The Embarrassing Story of How I Became a Bloodknight
by pooktales
Summary: The prequel! How Sunthraze the Sly and his friends became the first Bloodknights and their first, forgotten mission to save the now King Kael'thas from Dalaran (and Jaina of all things). Sylvanas and Arthas also re-live a shocking affair in the final days before Quel'thalas falls. The My Life for My Prince series explores alternate pairings, plotlines and exotic new characters.
1. Intro: Sorry, couldn't help myself

**Disclaimer** : The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 _Once upon a time,  
in an alternate universe far, far away…  
when Kael'thas was king…  
If you can believe it!_

MY LIFE FOR MY PRINCE

[cue victorious Sunfury Imperial March music]

 _ **Episode 1: The Embarassing Story of How I Became a Bloodknight**_

 _When Warchief Sylvanas learned a powerful lei line of Light magic  
had erupted in The Barrens, she was forced to call on the SILVER HAND,  
the Horde's only hope in the new, semi-reunited Azeroth._

 _However, her communication was intercepted by a secret order of BLOODKNIGHTS, determined to control the volatile font of magic for themselves  
and for the mysterious Bloodmage they served, KING KAEL'THAS SUNSTRIDER_

 _The fate of all AZEROTH now depends on who will control the abundant Light source in Kalimdor. The ALLIANCE, who would take even more control and imbalance  
the so-called "peace" in the realm, or the rebel BLOOD NEXUS who are secretly determined to strengthen the interests of their desperate HORDE allies…_

 _If only Kael'thas wasn't so SHADY, maybe people  
would trust him more, even in an alternate universe…_

The orange dust of the Barrens trailed the cavalry of red Hawkstriders like dragon's breath. Each Sunfury soldier wore a helmet with red jewel eyes that glinted above the snarling open jowls of a lynx cat. Each Blood Elf man and woman held tightly onto the reins with one hand. The other rested easily over a golden scimitar. The grip of each was the head of a wide-eyed phoenix, and the scabbard its swift wing, ready to fly into the fight. Their red and gold capes were the same, all open wings flapping as they climbed the dunes, and soaring as their swift mounts slid on clawed feet or leaped with avian athleticism down onto dry earth and scrub grass on the other side.

They passed zhevra that startled into stampede at the sudden appearance of so many Hawkstriders. The big red birds were larger than the native plainstriders, but yet somehow as mean as the savannah lions that raced downwind of this terrifying cavalry.

Then, on the horizon appeared the fiery explosion of Light magic. The Orcs, Tauren and Trolls had nicknamed it The Golden Wraith, and it had been hungrily ripping a deeper, wider crater into the earth with every day that passed. No one could control it and no one knew what to do about it. The Blood Elves, organized into warparties headed by a pair of Bloodknights each, swarmed around the sun-yellow fissure, divided into ranks and set up banners in moments. They intended to tame the Golden Wraith while the whole Horde was still fast asleep.

General Sunthraze was a Bloodknight by training, and this was all his brainchild, it seemed. He shouted orders and pointed with his ranseur. Much of what he said was swallowed up in the roar of the conflagration raging in pulses around them. However, points of amethyst light glowed at the temples of their helmets, beneath stylized red lynx ears, and the ones being commanded suddenly heard and rode off to their new positions.

Sunthraze then shouted in the other direction, pointed. The soldiers at his left shoulder spread out in that direction, forming an arc around the western brink of the fiery crater. The Hawkstriders even had the red 'cat masks' over their eyes, made specially to protect them from the raging tempest of Light. None were afraid or blinded by it, thanks to his ingenuity. The soldiers just focused on doing what they were trained to do.

And speaking of Tempests…

At the center of the army, five black boxes were set up and tall red and gold flags with phoenixes were arranged around them. Magisters rode a circle around those, tapping each with their staves, and then stopped their Hawkstriders to conjure. A bright blue portal opened up and the black boxes unfolded to puzzle together columns, five walls, a pentagram, and then a pentagonal shrine seething with green fel energy. From within, the blue light flashed. Soon after, a Bloodknight known better as Tempest the Raven, a tall and vain woman determined to look alluring in her armor, even in this moment, raced down on her Thalassian charger, a large phoenix shield at the ready.

Sunthraze, still on his own armored horse and unwilling to give the order for anyone else to dismount, noticed her when they all made way and she rode close to the crater's edge. He raised his free hand to the side of his mask. The purple light glowed softly as his muffled voice spoke to her helmet, using magic, "You ever tanked anything on a charger, Tempest? I think the extra armor will help us here."

She inclined her head, and the light over the ear nearest him flickered back, "Well, I tangle with you all the time, and you're kind of a stallion—"

"Not now, Tempest." Sunthraze's muffled voice came back and cut hers off.

"I still got you to blush, though, I can tell…" she sighed, "Anyway, yeah. Tank this, thank that. If I tanked that crazy Fel Reaver thing back in Tempy Keep, then of course I can tank anything. And I'll do it on a horse, doesn't matter."

"Good. The agility will help us, too. These things will be coming in fast." Sunthraze drew out his sword, then held the side of his head again, "Brother Tank. How long until Sylvanas arrives?"

The voice was from another Bloodknight, familiar to them both, "Another hour, maybe. We slowed down her Wolf Riders, but the skeletal warhorses are a little swifter. Brother Sly, are you sure you have enough time to do all this properly?"

"I'd better make sure I do," Sunthraze turned his horse in red armor to face Tempest. She smiled at him, but he was looking beyond the woman coming out of her Bloodknight's armor at fun angles. The black shrine had formed armored doors and now a Blood Elf man dressed as a warlock, but wearing armor as well, was getting down off of his horse.

Sunthraze's talk light gleamed, "Brother Immortal! I did not give that order—"

"Mavia and I need to be loose for the work we do…"

Tempest complained, "Ugh. Always the dirty jokes with that one…"

Sunthraze looked up at her next, "And always the dirty looks from you. Everyone, today we need to focus. And Sister Weaver?"

Brother Tank said, "…She's with me. We're ready to tank and heal inside the shrine."

Sunthraze took an anxious breath, "And Mother Whiteblade?"

It took a while for Saturna to answer. Then, a man's confident voice raised over magical interference, "The queen is here with me, Sunthraze. We all summoned safely. And Sorn and Liadrin. Your father is here, also."

Sunthraze grumbled, "Aw crap…"

"I know. Blaize is giving me a headache too, already. Anyway, my runestone is up. Thanks for getting Sylvanas' scramblers down. All are in position."

Sunthraze turned to Tempest. Tempest carefully walked her horse around to face the threat. So, the big boss had been listening in the whole time? Sort of awkward…

"Uh, on your order, Kael'thas…"

"I want it fast, clean and safe. We're a part of the Horde, we don't want to rip ourselves out of it after we deal with what's rightfully ours…" Then a shout that made all the many lynx helmets around the yellow storm look up as tiny points of purple magic glowed at the ears. Kael'thas shouted, "For Quel'thalas!"

Sunthraze pointed his ranseur at the roaring volcanic column of Light, "Tempest, charge!"

"Alright, but I'm going to remind you on our anniversary night that you sent me off to my doom and didn't even say 'Good bye, honey' first."

Some laughter carried through Sunthraze's helmet after that. Sister Weaver, Brother Tank and Brother Immortal, Sister Maneater, even Mother Whiteblade. And a snerk or two from Kael'thas himself.

"Alright, Grand Marshal Tempest… love you… uh, love you, too." Now Sunthraze did look down for a beat, embarassed.

Tempest hauled on her steed's reins and the horse reared up, whinnied. She punched up with her shield arm, releasing the gold Light twin of her shield into the conflagration. So much Light magic raced around itself, forming a cyclone. It began to leaned in toward her alone.

"That's it! She's aggroed… Archers and mages, open fire! Everyone else, get ready for the real wraiths…"

After the arrows and magical projectiles landed in many small, white-hot blasts along the cyclone, a thick amber cloud roiled up from the crater's edge and spread out among the many ranks of Blood Elves. But the cloud was a mass of strange magical creatures, all were manifestations of the Light-filled lei line so pure, that they each had a will of their own, were sentient. The Sunfury turned on each one and felled it.

Where were the Light Wraiths going? Toward the menacing looking blackened shrine. The counter to all of that white power from which they had come. Bright green fel energy smoked in pulses from the eaves of the shrine, high above its runed columns. Then, what could have been black lightning appeared in the air, threading around people. It choked a black ring around the whole crater before fading from view, just as fast.

Mavia the Maneater, a bright orange succubus, ran in when the second wave of Light Wraiths floated up from the crater, moving faster than their Hawkstriders or Bloodknight horses could manage. She made a hell-bending screech that frightened the soldiers nearest her. Really, that had been her intention. In the next moment, she threw a whip into the breach, a black leather whip that dazzled white as she lashed her arm back the other way and cracked it in the air. A whole flank of Light wraiths were battered to smoke and cinders.

She landed on tiny black and red hooves, raced along the invisible line she had defended, opened wings and flew soared over the heads of more Sunfury soldiers to land and protect the blackened shrine against the next wave.

"Gods, she's good." Fennore the Immortal grinned, and raised his own fist in the air. Shadowbolts rained from above and a concecrated mist of Light burned the ground and spread out below. Warlock spells and Bloodknight spells created chaos together. The Immortal Demonologist and the Maneater held and then pushed the enemy line back further.

Mavia screamed for Sunfury to get the 'fel out of my way' and then swept her white-hot whip around again.

Within the black shrine, Kael'thas went down on one knee. The ten other Bloodknights with him stood in a circle with their weapons out. They faced him, not the shuttered out world of Light beyond. Flashes of white light ran up the tiny seams between the dark magical stones as Fennore and Mavia obliterated each threat to their king on the outside.

Kael'thas wore mage armor similar to that of Fennore. The red cape, the three swirling fel green diadems were his own royal regalia, of course. But the rest was heavy plate made for a mage who was on the warpath. Yet, he knelt and he waited.

Five of the Bloodknights looked very young. Two, a blonde woman and healer, and a man with dark hair, shield and red sword, stood with their cat masks pushed up so that it was easy to see their faces. Lady Liadrin wore silver armor and stood closeby an older gentleman with a white beard and black armor and cape. He very much had the look of a mage as well. And then there was the recently retired Sunfury General, a man with a white streak flowing down his red mane, named Blaize.

"Steady, Kael'thas…"

Pyorin blinked and got angry in an instant, "You are, precisely, the worst and last person to calm Kael'thas down in a situation like this, Blaize."

"Look. I know how he works—"

"He's right, Blaize." Went Daphne.

"Shut up, Blaize." Confirmed Lady Liadrin.

"I was just trying to—"

"Shut the hell up, Blaize!" Kael'thas looked over his shoulder, face contorted with annoyance and on the verge of rage.

Blaize made a noise under his breath, rested a hand on his old general's Sunfury sword.

Queen Saturna was also a Bloodknight. A large silver blade that smoked white enchantment rested across her back. She strolled past Blaize next, looking as professional and focused as the rest should have been. Her black plate boots clicked over the magical tiles on the ground.

When all was again quiet, she said, "Blaize, your son is the Sunfury General now. If you had a problem with that, then you should have stayed home."

Blaize tightened the grip on his sword and licked the top row of his teeth.

Saturna's boots clicked as she walked back the other way. She was an unusual-looking person these days. Mostly blue, pale white hair. A little… transparent. They said, once, she had made the ultimate sacrifice for her husband Kael'thas…

But it'll take four more stories to explain all that, so I won't.

"Stop pacing, please."

Saturna paused and observed her husband, instead.

Blaize looked around at everyone with offended shock, opened a questioning hand. Kael'thas had been a whole lot nicer to Saturna.

Saturna smiled fondly at both men.

"Next pulse, incoming." Kael'thas put a flat hand on the ground. All over the floor, green runes came to life, segments of fel light racing, and then racing faster as Kael'thas focused. He was making hundreds of these calculations at once. "…Pulse."

Black lightning threaded in the air, escaped through the walls. Another dark spell to race along to the crater and choke it closed.

Kael'thas had used a gentle voice because his real focus was elsewhere, but the fallout was a heckuva lot worse. Snarling Light wraiths were suddenly everywhere in the shrine. The Bloodknights all ran forward. Pyorin was the loudest, drew the monsters' attention, and then they battered the creatures to smoke and ashes while Daphne went up on her toes and healed. Daphne healed everyone in the place, whether they were in danger or not.

Blaize scowled even while happy doses of Light sang above his head. Liadrin healed Sorn, who stepped forward and used one hand to write a blue spell in the air. He added to it each time Kael'thas conjured. Sorn was somehow recording it all, keeping track of the calculations.

Sorn confirmed, "Pulse complete."

The wraiths were finished off. All in the shrine relaxed.

"Blaize?" asked Kael'thas.

"Yes, my King."

"Well…?"

"One or two more should do it. We sealed off worse Light lei lines at the Black Temple, I remember. The reverberations, they felt kind of like Kemeretti, which was wide… or deep like Damash'pulan, maybe?"

Kael'thas sighed, "Are you sure you can't be more accurate?"

"Not if you're going to snap at me, no."

"Two and three-quarters, Kael'thas. But there's a repeating decimal there, of course, because we're dealing with non-linear magics." Sorn took down his monocle, dabbed a handkerchief at his brow. "Blaize just reminded me of the Kemeretti lei line from back then, that was, indeed, wider than it was deep, and it behaved a lot like this one. That should save us a few pulses and time conjuring. Thank you, Blaize. Your lived experience is, as always, invaluable."

Blaize stood a little taller, lifted his chin.

"If he could still swing a sword past his waist, he'd be a lot more useful in here." Pyorin paced a circle.

"Complain all you want, but my good bloodlines are also out there, taking the brunt of it. And doing well, too."

Speaking of Sunthraze, his voice filled the chamber. Several points of purple light glistened on their red helmets, "Sylvanas is finally here. She's eating through our ranks in the back."

Kael'thas said, "Dammit. Well, at least we didn't bring actual Farstriders, she would have completely flattened us by now. She knows those maneuvers inside and out. How much time?"

Fennore's voice came in, "Less than ten minutes. Mavia and I are dealing with a damned Undead cavalry. Everyone knows you're inside this shrine, Kael'thas. Exactly where you are is their target at the moment."

"Sunthraze!" magical interference welled up, "Sunthraze, can you hear me?" Kael'thas asked again, "Sunthraze, I want you to draw Sylvanas toward the lei line. Isn't that more valuable to her? Make her recognize that. I need more time to finish the pulses."

Sorn rushed to draw another blue calculation in the air. Then, he shook his head and conjured a portal. A wavering view of the Silvermoon Sunspire lay beyond.

"Emergency escape summoned, your majesty." Liadrin announced.

Kael'thas stood. He looked at all the flashing green runes around him. "Sylvanas knows I have my own runestone, though. And she knows exactly how to overload it."

"Also very like her." Daphne looked up, worried.

Saturna looked to Kael'thas. Love, concern. Then, her eyebrows raised. Her eyes, now wide with offense at something only she could feel, see.

"Saturna. What do you think?"

"We need to stay here, in Kalimdor. Kael'thas, you have to shut it down and soon."

Sorn put in, even tone, "If we go now, my queen, Sylvanas cannot bring charges against Quel'thalas itself. And General Sunthraze has already sworn that he will claim he went rogue."

Blaize crossed his arms, "And bring shame on the good Sunthraze name? I don't think so."

"This was already agreed, weeks ago, and it's not even your family name." Daphne turned on Blaize, "And not long before that, when you all were doing the so-called Silvermoon season, weren't you and Celestia busy claiming to be Sunstriders?"

"Daphne—" Saturna raised a hand, cut her off, "Sylvanas is pushing Sunthraze into the lei line itself. That is the disturbance I sense. She's willing to put a knife to Brother Sly's throat, in order to end this."

Liadrin looked alarmed, "Oh, Sylvanas has changed. Too much change…"

Blaize shook his head, "It a shame, but it's also a perfect strategy. Sylvanas nothing to lose-"

Saturna looked angry, "Well, except your son."

"Of course. I was about to say that."

Kael'thas had to think quickly. Then, he blinked into several points of arcane magic, disappeared. Saturna, Daphne and Pyorin were gone, too.

Blaize uncrossed his arms, "What the—"

"Everyone! Outside." Liadrin ordered them. "Where your king goes, you go too—whether he sends you a pretty little invitation to or not. Get those runed doors open, now!"

Kael'thas blinked several times until he, his wife, his tank and his healer were standing just behind Sunthraze.

"You can move your arm from around my waist now, Kael'thas." Saturna placed hands on his chest and looked up at him.

He was holding her tight against him as if he was frightened he'd actually drop her. Which was impossible with a blink spell.

"I kind of like you up against my body during a battle."

Despite the chaos about them, Saturna flashed him a little smile, just for him, but then took the step away that she needed to draw her sword and begin thinking of his protection.

Saturna looked at Lady Sylvanas up on her blue glowing skeletal warhorse. She summoned up a thick black-red Bloodknight seal and began to walk over to her.

"Oh Light itself, here we go…" Pyorin said, as he positioned himself in front of Kael'thas, "Banshee warchief against… whatever Saturna is these days."

They watched together as several Orcs noticed the Blood Elf queen and ran in with their axes. When they each took a swing, Saturna faded and the metal passed through her.

"After years of me helping her with that curse? Well, she's mostly my creation now. Which, I have to say, has all kinds of advantages." He smiled, "Daphne, I still want you to cover her, though."

"On it…"

Daphne's healin gspells reached very far, for a Bloodknight.

Sylvanas wasn't really looking out for Saturna. There wasn't even a real reason for Saturna to be there. She rarely left Silvermoon, or was rumored not to be able to, after the tragedy. Then, in the next moment, the threatening Undead warchief suddenly looked comical being yanked down off her horse by another Blood Elf who was smaller, similarly Undead, and a lot more blue.

Pyorin lowered his shield a second, "Your creation… Oh Kael'thas. I am surprised at you."

"Come on," Kael'thas waved for them to back up, "Now that I have the whole army in front of me and we have more protection, there's more time to conjure and we can easily support Sunthraze."

Daphne balked, "By drawing all the fire that was on Sunthraze, onto our king instead?!"

"You obviously have a thing for Lady Sylvanas, Kael'thas."

"Hunh? What did you say, Pyorin?"

"…Admit it. Saturna could have resembled anyone, with all your magic."

"Brother Tank! Is this really the time?" went Daphne.

"What? W-well… Saturna doesn't mind."

Daphne looked dejected, now that she was finally following the guys' conversation, "I don't think Saturna even knows."

"He's a Sylvanas fanboy, Saturna's a Kael'thas fangirl… I didn't know. When will the madness end?"

"Can you two just… shut up and kill things?!"

Daphne arched a blonde eyebrow, "Am I killing your fangirl queen or am I healing her?"

"Heal! Heal, I said!"

Daphne smiled, "Just making sure… Oh, ouch! Right hook and right in the face! Nevermind, I'm pretty sure Saturna knows she looks like Sylvanas."

Pyorin huffed a laugh, "Yeah, Saturna totally just went into 'there can be only one' mode…"

"Third pulse done! Last pulse!"

Kael'thas was standing on the brink of the crater, conjuring and shouting by himself. Pyorin threw up a shield of light and caught several orcish javelins flying their way.

Black, soulless magic welled up from deep in the crater. It climbed almost as high as the flaming Light.

Sylvanas swore and threw Saturna off of her, recognized the spell.

"He's… sealing it? But I asked the Silver Hand to seal it."

Saturna shrieked a warcry, got back up. Sylvanas slapped her. Saturna slapped Sylvanas back.

"You fanatical Bloodknight, freakshow nitwit! I'm trying to get you to pay attention to me." Sylvanas grabbed Saturna by the ghastly shoulders, "What the hell is your husband doing?"

"He's trying to save the Horde! We all are! But you'd never trust our Bloodknights with it. Instead, you want to involve the Humans and put the very Silver Hand in control, and right near Orgrimmar itself, Sylvanas!"

"No, that's a conjuring spell… Kael'thas is not sealing up the lei line, he's _stealing_ the Light magic—he has to be stealing it from us. That's exactly what that shady-ass Kael'thas would come all the way to my Kalimdor and do. All fire on King Kael'thas!"

Saturna grabbed Sylvanas back, really looked her in the eyes, as if she were sorry and about to explain more. Then, Saturna let loose another wild warcry and headbutted her. Sylvanas let go, stunned, and dropped to the ground.

"At a girl!" went Kael'thas, somewhere…

And then, when it should not have been able to get any worse (even writing-wise), it did.

The lei line quaked. It raged beyond Kael'thas' black shadow spell. The ground split between Tempest on her horse, trying to keep the lei line focused on herself, and Kael'thas with Daphne and Pyorin on the other side. Two Bloodknight tanks focusing on each flank, protecting from both the lei line and Sylvanas' Undead and Orc warriors. The tank and the so-called off-tank were facing two completely different directions. It was perhaps inevitable. It was perhaps so foolish of them not to notice, to realize it.

And, perhaps, Kael'thas did see it coming and hoped it would help his spell, by splitting the focus of the lei line. Or, for once, Kael'thas made a deadly mistake in his calculations. Because a Bloodmage simply did not think like a Bloodknight. He couldn't.

Saturna came running back when she realized what was going on. Sunthraze stood between the two warparties, surprised to find Kael'thas suddenly beside him, where his king was not supposed to be. All of this was against his strategy, and Sunthraze kept looking from Kael'thas to Tempest on his side, trying to reassess the situation. But he just wasn't sure.

Tempest looked down at her husband suddenly aware of the danger. She turned to him, the face of a grimacing lynx covering her gaze. She tried to move her horse into the crossfire, but it was getting to be too much, even for a Bloodknight charger. The half-magic-half-animal was afraid.

Saturna raced to get there also, "Get Sunthraze away from there!" Purple starlight ignited on all of the red lynx helmets around.

And then, the lei line blasted free, right beneath the young general's feet. The shade of who he was, swallowed up in extremes of black and so much terrifying white.

ealHeal

 **T** he first Bloodknights in existence, who later became the best Bloodknights in existence, who also, simultaneously, suffered for being the most incompetent Bloodknights in existence, each of them will tell you… Going off to follow Kael'thas to Outland was a horrible idea. Helping him out with his evil, zany schemes while there was worse. And, certainly, getting involved with him in the first place was a disastrous accident.

But terrible mistakes also test you. They anger you, and propel you into righteous action to correct that wrongdoing. Getting things ass-backwards in life can sometimes force a person to start getting things exactly right. And is that wrong? To live and writhe and fight as a mortal creature? To care about how things are? To dare to survive and take others into the Light with you? Drag them into the blinding white oblivion of giving a shit and trying to do anything to save lives, stop madness, stop lies and foolishness and make this a good world? Dammit-it hurts your eyes, doing stuff like that. Doing anything but sitting alone at home, huddled in a corner while things fall apart outside is insanity itself, if you think about it. Why try? Everything is going to hurt anyway.

But a terrible mistake also really happens when you are brave enough, against the awful odds, to just try anyway. Try and then survive.

Otherwise, you know, you'd be dead.

Well. When Tempest held her husband's hand, and the curious kinds of songbirds that only live in Pandaria sang at them through the window, she smiled, she whispered to him.

"You're alive."

Though he did not act as if he was. He only lay there, scarred, breathing. Very, very far away, though she kept holding onto him.

Kael'thas was in the room with them also. He stood by the open door. His brow knit with guilt, or concern. He wouldn't admit to which. He hadn't left Sunthraze's side, either. Fennore was in a chair, trying to catch some sleep after having been up with Sunthraze through the entire retreat though The Barrens, to Pandaria.

Liadrin came into the room, trailed by the Pandaren Brewmaster whose shrine it was. Kael'thas had offered to bribe the entire region in order to keep himself and his best Bloodknights safe from Sylvanas. Most of the army was there as well, or in Orgrimmar, under arrest. The entire effort to close the lei line had ended in a giant mess.

It was because everyone broke ranks when they saw what happened to the legendary Sunthraze.

The presence of Brewmaster Tulin, finally willing to even be in the same room as Kael'thas, was a sign that the Pandarens had decided to uphold their position of neutrality, even now. Whatever history Kael'thas had, or Warchief Sylvanas, they would grant him the protection that he had paid for.

The Brewmaster, who looked very much like an upright panda, fit his black and white fuzzy hands up into blue embroidered sleeves.

"I must, personally, thank you for your—"

Tulin cut Kael'thas off, "It is not a disease of the body, or the spirit. But of the mind."

Daphne entered the room then. She looked from Liadrin to Tempest.

"How can you possibly know that?" Kael'thas put hands up into his own red sleeves. But then again, he noticed that the Pandaren had already done so, and in a far more sage fashion. Kael'thas sighed and dropped his hands at his sides.

The Pandaren man lifted his black furry chin, "He is not that badly wounded. And he was already a good warrior, he knows sacrifice and fighting like this. He simply does not want to wake… back… up."

Tempest looked at the Pandaren. Her eyes were red. Then, it came out of nowhere, she screamed at him, "My husband loves me! He wants to be here, and he wants to be with me."

Tulin said, "There was a time when Sylvanas wanted his hide before. And he stood in a powerful spell before. Wasn't there? And he, and the ones that he cared about, they were all affected, weren't they?" Tulin stepped forward, shook his head, "That is what I have seen. And there is a lot… missing inside. More and more is missing each day. Like the lei line, the Golden Wraith, eating away and eating away… That feeling of loss, and his confusion. That is what is preventing his recovery. It is keeping him trapped, in that… other time."

"Some Brewmaster."

"Kael'thas, let's not be rude." Liadrin said.

Kael'thas looked from Liadrin, to Tempest, then Daphne. Daphne had a way of appearing as if she knew everything already. It could be annoying in some instances. But in this case… Kael'thas took a step closer, asked her if she knew what was going on?

Then, Fennore started to snore.

Tempest got irritated and shoved him awake.

"What…?"

Kael'thas asked, "Fennore, you are our most talented healer and you were once a priest. Did you sense any kind of… I believe what is being implied here is that there are lost memories… anything like that in Sunthraze?"

Fennore swept a hand down his face. Then, he glanced anxiously over at Sunthraze. He was still alive. Healthy. Just not awake. Fennore leaned over and held his head in his hands. "I'm not sure… he's sad, I know that. And there's this emptiness. I can't see past it. I kept trying to."

Liadrin raised hands for everyone to stop. "It's because you wouldn't be able to. I… fixed it that way, long ago. Tempest and Daphne were both there when I did."

The Pandaren almost smiled. "I shall prepare more tea…" he left. Determined to stay out of other people's problems and stay neutral, as ever.

"What are you talking about, Liadrin? Some kind of… memory deterioration spell? Back while we were fighting the Plague? I would certainly remember that."

"Unless you were affected by it. We kept that, and the secrets of… what amounted to the first mission, ever, of the Blood Nexus a secret. Because we wanted to halt the progress of the spell. If it was ever re-activated, we were afraid it would work like a virus, eating away at all of your memories, your Bloodknight abilities, everything that we ever, ever worked for. It did not begin when the Naaru was sent back from Outland, Kael'thas. It did not begin then, when I was asked to find a way to… use that power and create… Blood Elf paladins. That was only what I said at the time. We truly began making Bloodknights, long before then. Today's Bloodknights are the brainchild of a resistance movement that began… much earlier. Though I'm glad you were able to feel that pride, that you helped to invent us, invent the Blood Elves."

Kael'thas smiled uncomfortably. Then, he resisted complaining anymore.

Liadrin said, "Why else did you think I sent the four most perfect Bloodknights, including the perfect… woman to you while you were at the Black Temple, stuck with Illidan? I knew that Saturna, Sunthraze, Pyorin and Fennore could do it, Kael'thas. And I knew that Tempest and Daphne could help you later, at Tempest Keep. Because they had already done it before. All of it."

Liadrin walked around the room, while accusatory and fearful eyes looked her over. She could feel all of their hurt, all of it stemming from trepidation.

"Daphne and I have been speaking with Sorn about this today already. It took some convincing to have the Brewmaster even come into the room and confirm it for your ears to hear and for us to even start the work… but, working together with our resident Brewmaster, we do think there can be a cure. But it is risky, and I afraid it's going to be painful for all of us, as we start to remember."

Fennore leaned forward. He already looked deeply offended, "I thought you said that was the point, that we shouldn't remember, Liadrin."

"The thing is, it was dormant, for… a decade. But now that Sunthraze is triggered, and as I said, it is like a virus… this wartime spell created at the Violet Hold itself, it will start to evolve. It will adapt. You are all," Liadrin swallowed, "bound to remember, bit by bit, and soon. What we need is an honest account, from everyone, as soon as the memories return. Before things get confused. Having different life experiences, as you know, changes who you are. If the memories do not come back in the sequence that they should, or if they are erratic, and they very well may be, when that was the spell's original purpose, to confuse—we could lose you all. You will no longer be who you are. And worse, we could lose the Blood Nexus."

"Well that sounded more than insensitive, Liadrin."

Liadrin shook her head at Fennore, "Imagine if you forgot about Mavia? Or your time with Kael'thas? Remembering the wrong things in the wrong way will change you just as completely. And if you will… have a little faith in me, instead of condemning me already, Fennore, you will see… I am right about the Blood Nexus. If the Knights of the Blood Nexus never saved Kael'thas from the Black Temple, or got him free of Tempest Keep… if Kael'thas never married Saturna… if Kael'thas…" she finally let herself say it, "had died in Dalaran while Jaina was with him, without our help…."

Kael'thas looked up and took a step back then, as if it did mean something to him now.

"Fennore. I want you to rest while we're here in Dalaran. I've asked the others to try and do the same. Daphne will take over working through the memory spell to read as much of the memories as we can from Sunthraze while he's in that state. But Sunthraze will not have everything. I will work my way around, I will be as sensitive as possible, I promise you that. I will not judge. But you all must be honest about what could be the most… wretched, trying and embarrassing parts of your training, before becoming Bloodknights."

Tempest shut her eyes, bit her lip.

Liadrin went on, "…My goal will be to understand what came before, to record it as well as we can with Sorn's arcane spells. I believe, after that, we can convert, or rather, brew, the correct memotires into a serum. Then, once everyone is on the same… page again, we can start over. I hope. Even then, it may change everything. I think you all will agree with me that becoming a Bloodknight totally transforms a person. Like freeing a diamond from… coal and then cutting it to shine."

Liadrin waited for more objections, more hurt accusations.

"I am sorry for what I did to you all. What I made you into, as a result. And for what I, myself, don't know about you, your worst fears, your worst moments, your secret loves, your betrayals… because that is what it is going to take in order for me to do this and save us. I am going to need to take every single person's confession, for better for for worse. Friendships, romances may be broken." Liadrin set her teeth, "But the Nexus is more important. And moreover, we need to get our house in order before Sylvanas gets to us, because the Light only knows… what she'll do to us. Because, as you will begin to see, again… Sylvanas, and Arthas, they were both there at the beginning as well. He's gone, but she still survives. Who knows how she may exploit the Blood Nexus if the patience of the Pandarens wears thin, or if she finds out through her spies… it's inevitable that Sylvanas will challenge us once she realizes the memory deterioration spell has re-activated. We did bloody the Horde's nose back there, and she'll call it justice. She'll want to arrest the remaining Sunfury so close to her territory. Sylvnaas has already convinced the Pandarens to use their scrambling runes so that we can't portal away…."

"I know that." Kael'thas griped, "Almost the entire ruling force of Quel'thalas is trapped her for the time being. Well, if you don't count Lame'thremar and Hopeless Brightwing."

"So every last one of us needs to be ready."

Kael'thas was getting angry. Possibly the mention of Arthas' name set him off, "A lot of people were also in the past, Liadrin, and what does that really matter now? Sometimes, at their core, people are just… well, there are a lot of theories that people don't even have free will. We're a lot like animals in many ways, we just… do what we're meant to do, we sniff at the same spots… along the same road every day, eat the same food, and no matter what happens to us in life, we still decide to like the same things and kinds of people all that. And then, teenage assholes like Arthas… still tend to grow up and be murderous assholes. No matter what we think, or what we do… we still… Well at the end of the day, I'm trying to say that we are who we are, and we still love who we love!"

Fennore's shoulders sank, unhappily. "I dunno about that Kael'thas. What if Liadrin is right? What if you remember your past in the wrong way and it changes you completely? For one, you could go back to being an arcane crystal junky trapped in a nasty codependent friendship with Illidan Stormrage to compensate for the loss of your father, kingdom, the love of Jaina Proudmoore, and with no real friends nor romantic life to speak of. Well, except for your succubus."

Kael'thas narrowed eyes at Fennore.

Liadrin winced, but otherwise tried to ignore it, "We… don't have time to argue ethics, Kael'thas. You don't know the true past, the true history of Quel'thalas like I do. It might break you, when you do start to remember. So let's not go into this ordeal while denying things. And I want you, especially, to be very careful when I've seen you broken before. Or, I thought that I had. More or less." She clasped hands together, "Now, I'm going to start taking the first confessions. I've already explained to Saturna and the others. Your queen will soon be looking for you, Kael'thas. Like you, she has been having trouble accepting this. Please, see to yourself first, before you go to her, it will be so very distressing for Saturna, after all that she's been through and sacrificed for you."

Fennore tapped his chin, thoughtful, "Yes, very true there as well. I can see why Saturna is so worried about the two of you. I mean, it pretty much took, what was it? Some crazy dreams, a bedroom catching on fire, a battle where you almost died, a floating island over Nagrand, naked dueling in mid-air, a ball, a fistfight, and someone peed onthemselves too, somewhere in there…"

"That was Blaize, not me." Kael'thas spoke through clenched teeth.

"… and then a spiked bottle of Demon rum that Lady Vashj sneaked to Saturna," here, Fennore had to take a breath, "in order to give Kael'thas a snowball's chance in Hellfire Peninsula _with_ Saturna. And it was good luck too, that Saturna never learned about Kael'thas' succubus all through their relationship together, back at the Black Temple. That would've certainly ruined it. Imagine Saturna remembering or finding out that one part about the succubus, but none of the other parts. How tragic."

"Okay, so… number one." Kael'thas seethed, and tried to get all his angry thoughts in order, "Lady Liadrin is talking about memories we all had together BEFORE the Black Temple, Fennore, and number two—what is this, pick on Kael'thas Sunstrider day?"

Fennore looked too sad to worry about how he was being yelled at, though.

Liadrin tried to remain focused on what mattered. She went for the door and motioned for Tempest join her, "Take heart, Nexites…"

Fennore rested elbows on his knees, "Well, you won't lose your succubus, Kael'thas. That's the main thing. I might lose it all."

"Will you—SHUT UP, FENNORE!"

Liadrin took Tempest's hand and began to lead her down the candlelit corridor, to another part of the shrine.

"Why me, Liadrin? Why do I have to go first when I… I just want to be there, with Sunthraze. What if he wakes up and I'm not there to… he can't forget." Tempest asked sadly. The noise of the two men arguing died down and their own footsteps became more apparent.

"Or, are you afraid that he will remember? Remember everything that you said, all the things that you did? Is that the worse fear? I warned you most of all, Sister Tempestraven, that one day, you would have to face it."

"Please, please don't make me…" when Tempest pulled back, Liadrin made a fist, squeezed her wrist. "Ow…"

"My dear, you know as well as I do… We will have to start at the beginning, on the knife's edge."


	2. A smokin' hot, short redhead

**The chapters have changed, exciting! A note** : Hi there! So, my goal for writing fanfiction is to practice my writing. I realized after the first few chapters, I had sort of 'written myself into a corner.' I got stuck, and I also realized that I could create a stronger story with more things happening around the central character. So, believe it or not, I re-worked a lot of it. And don't worry, nothing's really been thrown out. Almost all of the scenes are still exactly the same, but there's also some really cool new stuff inlcuded. I'm about halfway through revisions (two more chapters to go, including the rest of the Kael'thas chapter that's intact and definitely returning), and after that, we'll only have new content.

You don't have to re-read anything if you'd rather not. To make it easy for you to skip what you might have already seen: the tail end of chapter 2 after the duel is new, and all of chapters 3 and 4 are new.

Next, I'll bring back some very familiar scenes and also add another new one for you. Look forward to it! Sorry about this, but maybe it'll even be interesting for you to experience the revision process and see the 'before and after.' It's been fun writing all about their origins...

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Chapter Two: A smokin' hot, short redhead**

 _ _Present day, in Pandaria…__

"I don't want to confess everything, but it seems I have to." Tempest sat down, then leaned elbows on her knees. She looked at the floor, sorrowful.

Lady Liadrin had a seat also, in the small room. She and Sorn had asked for an office to take the confessions in. What they got was a strange octagonal space with one large window and green bamboo screens placed along the walls at intervals. The other four walls were decorated with heavy, glossy paper scrolls. Leaf patterns, small flowers, sunbeams, snow… Liadrin didn't have time to admire it too much, but the four seasons were obviously a theme. Sorn hadn't been happy about the fact that there was no desk. In Silvermoon and everywhere else in Azeroth, "office" usually and strongly implied a chair and a desk to write and study books on. Not in Pandaria, apparently. And other than the couch Tempest was sitting on, and Liadrin's one chair, there were plenty of sweet-smelling mats on the floor. Sorn positioned himself as best he could on one of those and tried to lean back against large, dusty pillows. He dragged the small red tea table near. Sorn set five crystalline styluses on it. Then, he removed a large scroll from his leather satchel with a gold phoenix on it. He shook his head, that it was definitely not going to work, but what else could they do? Sorn adjusted his monocle, then nodded to Liadrin.

"My child…" Liadrin leaned in, tried to get Tempest to look up at her. "We are ready for you. Whatever you tell us, we will combine with Pyorin's recollections and with what Daphne and Fennore are gleaning from Sunthraze's own mind as he dreams. I think two solid Mind Vision spells and two honest confessions should give us an accurate sense of what happened, at least when you all first met. Slowly, as things progress, we'll bring in Kael'thas, Saturna and the others. If we all do our best, then Sorn and I will the serum, and finally Sunthraze… all of the ones affected, they should recover."

Tempest was already shaking her head, "No. There are no guarantees, Liadrin. We both know that. And when Sunthraze remembers every single thing that I ever did to him, when he finally learns about the real me…" she swallowed anxiously. "Well, not losing Sunthraze. Keeping him safe, that is the main thing. The sun above and the gods only know—we nearly did lose him once before."

Sunthraze's wife Tempest pushed back short red hair, blinked several times. "Alright. First off, what you need to understand and forgive me for… I was such a hotblooded harpy in those days. I needed a man, any good lover, so badly."

"Erm—"

"You heard me right, Liadrin. I mean, if we're going to be blatantly honest and not be judged about it. Looking back, I could be this… bitch-goddess from hell when I didn't get the love and attention that I wanted. And Sunthraze was seriously, dangerously hot stuff. Worse, he didn't realize that about himself. So innocent, you know, full of self-doubts. Poor, lonely country boy."

"Oh how sad for him. Tempest, I didn't realize—"

"Yeah. He obviously needed a good shagging to set him right."

Liadrin frowned at her.

Tempest smiled dangerously, heaved a big breath, then sat up to cross her legs. She eased into the little couch, smoothed hands over the cushions on either side of her hips, "Sunthraze was so ready to be… bitten."

"My dear, are you an esteemed Bloodknight, an accomplished warrior? Or a wanton succubus? Memories are what they are, but let's not become so nostalgic about the ones we love that we get carried away…"

"Succubus? Or a woman? Liadrin, in those days, he made me feel like I was a little of both. And lust is, actually, a big part of our story together. The first time I met Sunthraze, well, after I almost beat the crap out of him… I nearly ate that handsome man-imal alive."

Liadrin turned back and gave Sorn this look, that she didn't want the word 'man-imal', whatever that meant, anywhere near her serum spell.

Sorn glanced up in kind, already busy crossing through his last blue shimmering line of conjured magic. It hissed in mid-air above the small red tea table.

"Now then, Tempest. If you could continue… This time, a little less lasciviously?" Liadrin crossed her leg also, far more politely.

Tempest mused, "Becoming a Bloodknight, it changes people. Completely. Growing into the role, going after that man… it all helped to finally sate some of my darkest desires." Tempest looked up from her warm thoughts. Her eyes then flitted aside, with hurt. "Alright, here we go. And remember," she hissed, "you asked for it."

The story came together, a bit like this…

 _Eversong, 128 days before the Sundering._

 **W** hen the white gold sun rose, and Sunthraze always timed it well, he stood with hands pressed high overhead, then opened them, slowly. He liked to pretend that the light was his, every day. That he placed the sun itself in the sky, and those searing, pale rays—and his fingertips played at stroking them now, spreading them out, painting them across the flushed blue sky… that the light was his creature. Sunthraze knelt down in the grass when he got tired of that and raised just one arm, lazily painting sun over the sky and the tree tops. Tracing a finger over the forest canopy in the east, then sweeping high over the white towers of Silvermoon City. The Shepherd's Gate. The garrison. The Sunspire. Whatever he could see from his lonely field in Eversong.

Then Sunthraze went back to sleep, eventually. He itched his wild red hair. He smiled and pretended not to smell the Hawkstrider patties, inevitably everywhere. But out there, somewhere, was someone else's farm, someone else's sweet wheatfield that could be left to seed, not every inch of it planted for food or for Hawkstriders to make their nests and raise their eggs in. Or, some fine, fine lord or lady out there had a real, rolling green lawn. No animals, whatsoever. Just sweet-smelling grass, and flowers. And that perfect, fine mansion and its lawn overlooked the Sunwell and the sea, way out that way. Though he'd probably never see it.

Not that he couldn't. Sunthraze could spend the day walking to the Sunwell and get there by lunchtime. Then, spend an hour or two and head back. Better yet, he could hitch a ride off someone like he was a leech. If he bathed and combed his hair, maybe someone with a decent cart wouldn't be too afraid to stop and let him hitchhike. But there were too many damned chores to do at Chimera Rook, so better to just… not. Just don't do anything. Don't dream. Sunthraze sighed and lay flat in the yellow grass.

"I'll just stay home and suffer. Again."

Soon, deep green sleep filled Sunthraze's mind. Perhaps, he imagined he was back in his real bed, under his old blanket. Sunthraze didn't really know. He was just bone tired. He imagined even the marrow of his bones was tired. Sunthraze cleared his throat and snatched an arm up over his eyes, against the fully risen sun. He heard himself snoring.

But other people out in the field were shouting.

"Heal yourself!" Sunthraze sort of heard.

Then a man grunted. He was getting pushed about. But it was far enough away to ignore. Anyway, they sounded like soldiers exercising, so Sunthraze knew he definitely _could_ ignore it. But why were they practicing so close to his Hawkstriders? Surely those armored idiots could smell them, right?

Sunthraze tried to get back to his mid-morning nap, but the soldiers were really making all his getting up at the butt-crack of dark, feeding the Hawkstriders their seed, grooming them, turning the eggs over, trying not to get stabbed by their javeling-sized beaks feel especially useless this morning. All that work and not even a chance to rest?

Had it quieted down? Sunthraze listened. His eyes slid shut again. Sunthraze rolled over and reached for a familiar green blanket that wasn't there. His confused, tired arms folded beneath his head instead. Sleep, the most valuable thing to him. More precious than gold, he was more desperate for it than water, or chocolate or sex… Sunthraze opened his eyes a moment, thinking that one over. "Well, I won't touch that last one." Then he grunted, "Not like I can, like there's any hope of that happening around here anyway." The life of a Hawkstrider rancher could be so depressingly lonely and pointless sometimes…

"Heal! Come on, Pyorin!"

"Commander, I—ow! Sun-dammit, Lucia!"

"Good, good… that's it. Good girl! No mercy, Lucia. Give him none!"

It was when this ranger woman with the pretty name started this sexy wildcat growling, that finally got Sunthraze up on elbows and knees and squinting through the tall grass.

"Hit him again, Lucia!"

"Oh for the love of—"

"Good girl… HARDER!"

"Britecleff! Who's side are you on?"

"Nobody's. Not if you both give another sorry performance today… Alright, Lucia. Alright! Get off of him… Woah, wait! The tide has finally turned, eh, Pyorin? Give it to her! Really do it. Oh, that's excellent, that's perfect. Now punish her—where are your retributive spells?"

Sunthraze kept low as he ducked through the grass, a naughty smile on his face. He kind of wished he could switch places with the Pie-urine guy, whoever he was. _What the hell are they doing to each other?_

Then, Sunthraze dropped to hands and knees, mouth open. A mere spray of tall yellow grass folded between himself and the sight of a woman flat on her back, both hands on her sword, desperately trying to fend off a giant man—Sunthraze could swear he was the size of a bear (or at least reminiscent of one, with all that long dark hair and scrubby beard) bearing down on her with all his might. Their arms were getting tired. The metal blades scraped and cast messy spurts of thick Light magic between their armored chests, igniting the blades of grass all around. Sunthraze would never forget that, that the living things around singed, were actually smoking. He could _smell_ the blasphemy they burned all around him. Sunthraze had never seen anything like this before. Only in his nightmares, perhaps. Holy Paladins of the Alliance chasing down zombies and other foul be-plagued beings. It was never supposed to come so close to home, or have anything to do with Highborne. Or Farstriders. Weren't there even laws against it?

The woman was able to push Pyorin off. Then, the bear-man hung back for a breath or two. Both of them were tired.

"Did I bring you two jackasses out here for this?! Did I? Did I stake my reputation and your lives on such a sorry show?! I said, finish your enemy!"

That Commander Britecleff? He was such an asshole.

Pyorin was faster. Sunthraze watched Tempest give a cry, drag arms through real pain to block his savage strike at the last moment. Both of them deadlocked again. But then Pyorin freed a hand and released a handful of golden magic overhead. A wicked grin, that he liked the feel of it. Sunthraze's heart raced. The sick bastard was healing himself. Like any priest! Then, he cast that same hand at the prone Tempest girl and she arched her back in agony. In the next moment, Pyorin reared up, sword in both hands, and pounded at her again, and another time. Tempest almost screamed through this defense of her life, trying desperately to parry him again and again. But she couldn't keep it up.

The Farstrider commander circled at the edge of it, no different than a vulture. He stepped through the grass, right between Sunthraze and the woman. There, he stood and made a fist of his sword arm. Sunthraze noted the ornate officer's sword gleaming in the morning light and the savage spray of Light magic, just sitting in its runed scabbard. Just… hanging there, when he could help. Wasn't he going to do something about all this?

The sun, the sword, the girl, her certain death, the coldness of it all, the madness he was witnessing. It was so hard to see, to think it all through fast enough. Sunthraze lost his breath. This was wrong. This was really happening?

Britecleff hissed, "Finish her, Pyorin. You know you want to. Finish the bitch!"

Pyorin's large shoulders sagged. His chest heaved with breath. Pyorin spread his feet apart, centering himself. When the lady clearly couldn't handle any more, this would be the final, aimed, decisive strike.

Sunthraze could have left. He could have stayed in his life, on his farm, forgotten about the whole miserable thing. He didn't know them, did he? And he had other chores to do.

But, you see, the Tempest lady was crying. She was truly afraid. And these two jerks, they were picking on her. Whatever they were up to together, that's what it really and truly was. Indignation roiled up in the redheaded Hawkstrider rancher. In the marrow of his bones, going back generations, he was a gentleman. Sunthraze knew that about himself and he hated to keep ignoring it now. Soon, nothing else made more sense than acting on that clear instinct. Seeing a woman in distress, knowing that it was wrong-it was all he needed.

Sunthraze crawled on the ground between Britecleff's legs. He got Britecleff's sword. When the man reacted, too slow from the surprise attack, Sunthraze gave Britecleff half a look and jerked back, to knock Britecleff in the face with the metal pommel. Next was the Pie-urine bear man guys. Pyorin's face was contorted with this dumb look of confusion and outrage as he saw Sunthraze suddenly coming at him. Pyorin came down with the sword anyway because they both knew it was too late for him to stop it. Sunthraze still held the commander's sword the wrong way round, blade down, his fingers on top, and his arm not really positioned to swing it correctly Sunthraze was very aware that he was now holding it more like a broomstick. A smile formed on Pyorin's face. Pyorin judged the younger man in an instant, already decided that the next swing would disarm this intruder, maybe take the fool's arm off, with it.

But Sunthraze was shorter and used his advantage there, well. Sunthraze got low, fast. Between the blade and the woman. Sunthraze parried the sword tip askew, just enough, then dropped beneath the falling sword, to completely clear it and came up on the other side, to smash the commander's sword a second time, into some other Farstrider's stupid, arrogant face.

Pyorin fell over.

The woman shrieked with fright. Sunthraze checked back to see if she was okay. Instead, she looked ready to kill him.

You see, back then… he didn't know Tempest very well.

"The hell are you?" She sort of… hopped back to her feet, the way an agile assassin might. But this woman had a full set of Farstrider armor on. Sunthraze had to blink at that. And he noticed she had her sword in hand again, the right way.

Then, ahead of him. That bear-dude, Pyorin, he struggled to his feet after slipping once or twice, clutching his face. He stared through bloodied fingers with murder in his eyes, too.

"Baby, you okay?"

Sunthraze was so flustered by now, he almost answered her when she asked.

"…I'll be fine."

Sunthraze flinched to hear the man ready to kill Tempest only moments ago, sputtering through his bleeding hand to say it.

"Hang in there, Pyorin. I'll toss you a heal—"

 _Wait._

"Thanks, babe." Pyorin dropped his hand then, face perfectly healed. He closed in from his side and cracked his neck at Sunthraze.

 _What the—_

Sunthraze again raised the sword he'd stolen. He faced one angry Farstrider, then shuffled his feet to face the other one. It was easy to see now, that he was screwed and why. Why oh why had he bothered with these stuck-up, always so selfish and arrogant, freaking crazy Farstriders!

"Get off my land!" It was all Sunthraze could think of.

Pyorin shouted back, "Your land? This land belongs to the House of Sunstrider. The king. And we're Anasterian's soldiers. We're the ones on this land, actually using it. What did you do with it? Your family let it go fallow."

Tempest put in, "Yeah, we're doing you a damned favor! Why did you attack a bunch of Farstriders?"

Sunthraze looked helplessly back at the woman named Tempest. Now was a bad time to notice how attractive she was when she was standing. And facing him. And wanting to kill him. And so freakishly tall.

"Hey! It's called chivalry. I was worried about your… lady, here! But I swear, if I'd known she was the freaking jolly red giant, able to fend for herself, you know I wouldn'ta bothered!"

"That's it—Pyorin! You go high, I'll low. I think this pansy just said he has balls for me to crush."

"Aaargh! This so…. SUUUUCKS!" Sunthraze ran for it. Tempest, with her long legs and stride, was able to quickly overtake him. He caught her sword with his own as it reached in to slice and hamstring him, maybe. Sunthraze let her run over him, ontop of him almost, and the blades seared against one another. When his handguard tangled with hers, he threw, with all his might, and was able to wrench the sword from Tempest's hands. She had a moment then, to decide whether to run and go get it. By then, Sunthraze was sprinting the other way.

Pyorin was a strong runner, too. Sunthraze was not trained like they were, though he was running like a mandman. And Sunthraze got tired after his burst of energy. When he felt the other man gaining on him, Sunthraze desperately attempted to swerve away, change direction. Pyorin kept on him like a shadow. Sunthraze turned completely on his heel at the last minute, thinking to slide out of Pyorin's reach and double-back. But Pyorin was already there. The two men did another panicked zig-zag before Pyorin matched Sunthraze's fancy footwork and finally put a sword between them. Sunthraze caught his breath, backed off and circled as well, kept his own sword ready.

The smartmouthed redhead and the lumbering bear-man both gasped and shuffled, neither of them wanting to strike first. "One thing… why the hell is she with a slob like you, who wants to kill her during some practice?"

Pyorin smirked, shrugged one big shoulder, "I've got a lot of things that you don't. Which is easy to see from those dingy overalls you're wearing. You really don't have any actual clothes, do you?" and to Sunthraze's deeply checked reaction, "Heh. I know the type. Broke as a joke… farmer boy."

"…Farstrider freak."

"Short man."

"Bed head! You never condition, do you? What do you do, let your cavewoman girlfriend gnaw the ends of your hair with her teeth?"

"What did you just call me?!" Pyorin lunged.

Never insult a male Elf's hair…

Fast sword play was the result. Sunthraze was shorter, lighter, but he was able to match Pyorin stroke for stroke. Pyorin tried to disarm Sunthraze, several times, but he was slow to recognize that this country bumpkin was just as skilled, if not better. Sunthraze hadn't mishandled their commander's sword earlier, stolen it from its scabbard out of clumsy wrecklessness. Sunthraze got it with the confidence of a man who wasn't afraid to use the sword backwards, if he had to. Sunthraze was sure he could manage.

Frustrated, Pyorin made a wild swing that sent all his black hair flying. He wanted to take Sunthraze's head off. Rather, Pyorin knew he couldn't actually manage it, but then again, he couldn't best Sunthraze either, and so needed to scare him. Buy time. Sunthraze ducked with easy agility, then kicked Pyorin hard, in the gut.

Pyorin went down again.

Tempest came sprinting up once more. Sunthraze ran backwards. He really didn't want to face her again. She swiped and he parried, just barely.

"You naked under there?"

"Wait, what?"

A very good stab, that should have gone through his middle, but Sunthraze winced and dodged it.

Her voice lowered, "…What do all those cool tatts say?"

"Huh? What the- are you… hitting on me?"

"I'm Tempest. Some people get to call me Lucia."

"You're busy trying to kill me, though!"

"Ungh!" another hungry swing, "Call me Lucia!"

"Uh… no! Not till you stop trying to kill me! What is wrong with you freaking… freaky Farstriders?"

Tempest swept her sword around, sloppily. Sunthraze took it neatly, readied to disarm her again. But it was a trap. Tempest hooked him in tight this time, was able to pin his arms up high because she was taller. Sunthraze was up on his toes, stupidly, while she smiled at him and sniffed deeply of his neck, then dropped one hand from her sword to give him a good squeeze…

"Gah! Oh gods! That was… that was NOT ladylike!"

"Get your hands off my woman, pumpkin head!"

"Oh my gods, did you not see her try to ravage me just now? This is sick. Why can't I just run away from you two?" Then, Sunthraze broke away and recovered, only to see the tall redhead and her bear of a boyfriend encroaching steadily, now a united front, with angry or amorous looks across their faces.

"Belore!" White hot light seared everywhere.

Sunthraze got low. While he was doing that, his sword was snatched away. Light, sense, feeling… all deafening. But eventually, he understood a voice saying to him, that same commanding voice, "…stand up straight."

Sunthraze could hardly see through all the white. When he looked, to his right, he saw Pyorin and his Tempest, kneeling on the ground with hands folded more reverently in their laps than Sunthraze felt looked natural for them. When they weren't pummeling or groping their enemies…

A man not much older than him, average height… everything about him average, really, looked back at him. But then there was this intense blonde haircut that fell over one eye, just so. The rest was shaved close to the sides of his head, and brunette. One of those very expensive fancy haircuts… weird on a Farstrider.

"I've put them in a state of meditation. That should last about a minute or two."

"Oh thank the gods—"

"So you have one, maybe two chances to get my next questions right. After that, I release the dogs and they finish you. Got it?"

Sunthraze reeled for a moment, worried that he hadn't heard this right. Then, some old wive's tales about Farstriders executing criminals with no warrant in these backwoods, that kind of stuff came to mind. That brought him back. Indignation, again.

Britecleff inhaled angrily, puffed up his chest, "Who are you? And what the hell were you doing?"

Sunthraze was ready with a fast answer—

"In that order. And I'll know if you're lying to me." Britecleff's dark brows furrowed, "Trust."

Sunthraze was very tempted again, to lie. It would be easy. Why should he help them? Then the world opened up a little. It was starting to feel like there were two paths ahead. Like when he decided to fight and help, rather than run. Now, was he really going to lie? Just like that? How dare this Farstrider assume he would be such a coward? Anyway, his mother at least deserved a chance to find his fool body if they were going to be such lawless bastards, rather than worry the rest of her life without him…

"I'm Sunthraze. And you're a jackass."

Britecleff barely got a chance to react to this when Sunthraze went on, "I don't care what you're doing out here. You're too close to my family's land, and then, part of your torturous practice is to have a woman, on her back—a lady—"

"Yeah. Tempest is hardly a lady."

Sunthraze asserted, fully serious, "She is a lady. She was vulnerable, and you were calling her foul names and degrading her and told your goon to kill her. I heard you say that, I know I did. What kind of man does that to a woman? So I did what you were supposed to do, with your sword." Sunthraze gathered himself up, "…I stopped it."

Britecleff crossed his arms. "I can smell your Hawkstriders."

Sunthraze decided not to make that one so easy on Britecleff. Sunthraze refused to rise to it.

"So we are, indeed, close to the Sunthraze Estate. That's who you are? A relation to Lord Roann Sunthraze? Or, the late Roann Suthraze."

"This called Chimera Rook, now. And I'm Roann's son."

Something in Britecleff's countenance melted. He uncrossed his arms. "Your first name?"

"I already told you my name."

"The one named… Sunthraze Sunthraze? You're the double Sunthraze? The heir? Or, you were the heir."

Sunthraze shuffled on his feet, uneasy. "…So? What business is it of yours? You still haven't told me that."

Tempest and Pyorin drowsed awake then. Both warriors saw Sunthraze so close to their commander and went for their swords.

"You keep your flying monkeys offa me!" Sunthraze swiped a hand wild in their direction.

"…Jerk." Went Pyorin.

Tempest cleared her throat, "So… what does that one tattoo say, across your belly? That's kind of a nice one."

Sunthraze stared at her, staring at him. But then, he was further distracted by two more pairs of eyes staring at him. Sunthrazed flinched at the two other men.

"Well, that is kind of a cool one. Never seen one like that before." Pyorin grunted.

"…Is that in Trollish? Good gods!" Britecleff snerked laughter.

"Aww… what does it say…?" Tempest ran up and almost put her hands on Sunthraze's naked stomach, beneath his overalls. She moved that fast. Britecleff swept a hand down, parrying her wrist with his own, though. Being her commander, he had to be faster.

"So, are we busy arresting him?" Tempest reached into the bosom of her gold and green armor instead and pulled out a small white notepad. She slipped a pen from the metal spiral bind, ready to write. "What do you want him down for?" then her voice dipped sultry, "Cause I'm down for anything."

Britecleff tightened his uncomfortable smile. "Tempest. Go play with Pyorin."

"Too bad I don't get to decide your punishment…" she set teeth around the end of the pen, raised red eyebrows at him, then waltzed away.

Sunthraze almost turned himself around, watching her go. Britecleff snapped his fingers to get the younger man's attention back. "I should arrest you, you know. She was right. What you saw today was classified—"

Just as fast, "I didn't see anything."

"Uh, yes, you were just looking at everything. I saw you."

"Did she say her real name was Lucia?"

"It's too late for that, Lord Sunthraze."

"My name is Sunthraze. Just Sunthraze. I know what I am—do you think I don't know? I lived through it, me and my entire family. We had debts, they got called in. Almost the whole estate is gone. I raised my father's Hawkstriders after he died. I've been doing my duty for a long time. I know my place and I have my pride, so I don't need someone telling me what I am and what I'm not."

"It's _who_ you are. Not what." Britecleff leaned on his back leg. "So… that's what I saw. The great swordsmanship of the Sunthraze line, passed down. You've never been with the Farstriders before have you? Trained like your grandfather? You can't have been. So why do you fight like it?"

Sunthraze made fists at his sides. "My grandfather didn't—"

"He did, I would know. And his father before him, and the Sunthraze before that. All decorated. But one generation got skipped. Just one."

"My father couldn't conscript. There were more important things, like his family. Trying to save it from ruin. Though, you see how much it helped. Look, why are we even talking about this? If you're going to arrest me, then arrest me."

"It's just so amazing to me. It's not genetic, not in your blood at all, but still… you fought like a… like a lynx. You really did. I congratulate you."

Sunthraze felt his heart thundering in his ears. They'd said enough to one another. He should go. He really should take the chance and get away… but it was something Britecleff said. Something he'd never heard anyone say before.

Bad decisions, they come in threes.

"Wait, what do you mean? It's not… I don't have my father's blood? But I do."

"You all lost the land, though."

"We had debts—why are you rubbing this in? We had debts that had to be paid. So the royal House of Sunstrider took the land, like they took our neighbors' lands. Like they take everyone's land."

For the first time, Britecleff seemed approachable. Because he seemed sad. Truly sorry about something. Sunthraze read it in an instant, that the man regretted saying something that Sunthraze had never heard before, that no one else had ever told him. And when Sunthraze thought of Britecleff's words again, replayed it all in his mind, he felt like a fool. The biggest fool in all of Eversong, in all of Quel'thalas, for not seeing it before. Yes, his family had debt, like other families. But the other reason, the main reason why families lost their land in Quel'thalas… was because an heir was not an heir. Because he didn't have his father's blood. Because he was not his father's son.

But that simply couldn't be so.

Britecleff raised his hands in apology, "I thought… this whole time I assumed it skipped a generation, the military service, because there was a vendetta against the House of Sunstrider. Please… I am asking you to forgive me, Sunthraze. I shouldn't have assumed."

"But my name—"

"It is a good, honorable name. That you well deserve."

"They named me twice." Sunthraze looked at nothing. He felt like nothing. His mother was just about strange enough to do that. Name him twice, to prove a point. To raise a middle finger to the world, over the son she loved anyway.

"…And why would I have a vendetta, against the royal house? Why would anyone in my family be personally angry with… What did King Anasterian do to us, then? What does he have to do with it?"

Britecleff wore the stolid mask of a soldier once again. "There were things… I shouldn't have said. And there were things you shouldn't have seen, today." He snapped, and pointed at the Hawkstriders, tied up near the road. Pyorin sheathed his sword, and so did Tempest. They each gave Sunthraze a final look (Pyorin's was threatening, Tempest's was more amorous but… still sort of threatening) before going to the road. "You won't see me again. But try anything, and you'll be dealing with those two. Again."

Sunthraze watched the three soldiers go. A wind came and snapped Britecleff's emerald officer's cape, high over his right shoulder. The pommel of his ornate officer's sword gleamed.

Something about it, all that status… now Sunthraze felt acutely what others were always saying about the Farstriders, that they were just bullies, that none of it had been earned, "I don't understand any of this!"

Britecleff would not turn and face him again.

Sunthraze saw his opening, and also, that he would never get away with it. That this was an impressively stupid impulse, a very bad decision coming on. Sunthraze began to move toward the overblown, over-dressed, departing figure, "Hey! You just insulted my family's honor." Sunthraze spread his arms out, incredulous, and fully unashamed of that now, "Why would the Sunthrazes ever hate the Sunstriders? Tell me what they did! Or what you think we did!"

Pyorin spun around, hand on his sword again. Britecleff half turned to him and must have said something because the dark haired fighter soon made a fist, and jogged over to their three Hawkstriders, tied onto the fencepost. Pyorin mounted up. Then, Tempest jogged over and got astride quickly. And it was Sunthraze's fence, he was sure of that. Whatever the actual property lines were, he'd mended it last summer. They pulled their animals into the road. Britecleff's Hawkstrider was this showy green thing that made Sunthraze scowl.

"Manky jack-ass bird, manky, jack-ass commander…" then, loud enough for Britecleff to hear, "Hey! I was talking to you! What did the Sunstriders do to my mother? Or my father? What did King Anasterian do to us?"

Sunthraze ran at them. He sprinted.

"Look, boy. I'd go home if I were you—"

Britecleff didn't get his condescending look off fast enough. He looked down to see a furious redhead coming at him, and feel his fingers claw into his beltloops. Tempest and Pyorin kicked their birds to ride ahead. That had been Britecleff's last thought, his last action, too. But it only got his Hawkstrider out from underneath him faster. Sunthraze dragged him off the Hawkstrider and they both fell to the ground.

"And your saddle's crap. Who's outfitting the army these days—" Sunthraze almost laughed, "If it isn't the Sunthrazes?"

Britecleff was dazed for a moment, "You really are a dumb country bastard—"

Sunthraze punched Britecleff's mouth, even as he was saying it.

Pyorin and Tempest really had expected there to be no problem. When they turned back to see what was going on, shock and true fear crossed their faces. Sunthraze threw Britecleff down again, crawled over him, kept punching him. And it clearly hurt. Britecleff groaned when he was hit, again, again. They got down off their mounts and raced to their commander's side. Pyorin wrested Sunthraze off, picked him up off his feet, but then Sunthraze used the leverage to kick Britecleff back down again, dead center of his gut. And this caused Pyorin to lose balance and fall to the ground.

"Okay, kid! This time, you are under arrest!" Tempest had a rope. She tied it around his ankles, and then Pyorin rolled him over, lay flat ontop of Sunthraze to keep him down with his sheer bulk, while Tempest pried his arms back and tied his wrists. Then, Pyorin got the rope from her and finished dying his wrists to his feet.

"What for?" came Sunthraze's muffled complaint, "You jerks trespassed on my land, you insulted my family! And then he can't even face me like a man…"

Tempest grabbed Sunthraze's hair, at the scalp. She snarled into his ear, "You know, we could have done this in a much nicer setting, you and I…"

Sunthraze really jerked about then, fearful that she was so close to him.

Pyorin continued sitting on Sunthraze. For Pyorin's part, he feared to turn around too much, move too much and give Sunthraze any kind of edge, "Commander? You alright?"

"Yes! Of course!" but Britecleff's voice soared at the end. And, he was spitting blood every other sentence.

They hauled Sunthraze to his feet, then put him across the back of Tempest's Hawkstrider. She mounted up behind him, one hand on the reins, the other gripping his shirt collar tight, like a mother lioness with jaws on the scruff of her cub's neck.

"You comfortable?"

He couldn't possibly be. She adjusted her hips in the saddle, the leather creaked, and the pommel poked Sunthraze painfully in the ribs.

"…Poor thing. You really did mess with exactly the wrong Farstriders today. And it's only morning." Then, Tempest threw her weight against him again, urged her Hawkstrider into motion, "HYAA!"

The three Farstriders then set out for the Garrison with their latest prisoner. A country boy who had become their criminal, captive, a true curr in moments.

Or, do dumb things happen in fours?

Halfway across the Eastern Kingdoms, someone else was about to do something incredibly… sophomore. Though, technically, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider was, by then, a fourth-year senior.

 _Dalaran, 127 days before the fall of Silvermoon._

 **K** ael'thas had a seat on the couch in his room, so that he wouldn't have to face the purple window behind him. He decided he hated that about the city, and its university: purple. Everything in Dalaran was purple. All this damnable purple light casting a heartless 'I'm better than you' glow in the school colors, over everything a person does. He'd never seen so much stained glass in one place before coming to Dalaran to study, and he'd been raised in the Sunspire itself. A Highborne palace that the ignoramuses of Dalaran made fun of…

A splash of water in the next room, a woman murmuring to herself. Kael'thas decided to ignore it, for now. He leaned over and slipped a gold cigarette case off the table. He flipped it open, had one, then tossed the case back. He was used to the ruby phoenix and platinum filigree on the cover and never really made a big deal out of it. The case alone could pay a year's worth of tuition at the university. Kael'thas leaned over his knees and stared at the bright metal case now. Both of them cast in this oppressive, 'Dalaran knows best' purple, and that white star always hovering at the center of each window. Right now, it felt like they were mocking his latest failure, covering the Thalassian crimson curtain and furniture with its amethyst shadows. Some days, Kael'thas hated that he ever came to the Human lands to study at the mage's Arcanium. Four years later and he was at the top of the Arcanium rosters, and living in the highest tower in the Spire, the most lush dormitory apartments… and the Humans still managed to make him feel like a freak.

The woman's voice throbbed through the walls again. Kael'thas shook his head and pointed a finger in front of him, set the white edge of his nail alight with one tiny flame, smiled, then pointed at the end of the cigarette. Snapped his finger to put it out when he was done. Or, Kael'thas could have just pinched the end like every other mage did at the Arcanium, but that didn't suit him at the moment. In this moment, Kael'thas wanted to enjoy who he was, show off a little. There was at least one thing to celebrate, before she came into the room and probably pulled it all down.

Kael'thas smoked anxiously, because he knew what was coming. His father always said, 'Prepare for the worst, but expect the best'… Kael'thas had a problem with the expectations part. He felt the small box in his pocket. Still there. Then, he had a look down at himself. He was so tired and nervous, he'd thrown on a robe and forgotten to properly dress. The Highborne prince wondered, idly, if Jaina would like him to put something else over his naked body besides the robe, and considering the situation… Or if he should let her enjoy it one last time? Tempt her. Was that game playing?

Kael'thas listened again. Jaina turned off the sink, finished up in the bathroom. She was coming out into the conservatory any moment. Kael'thas' heart raced. Jaina always teased him for being the only student in the dorm that had a _conservatory_ in addition to the posh living room and his bedroom. Really, his father King Anasterian surprised the whole school and showed up in person to inspect his son's quarters at the Spire freshman year and found them 'so completely unacceptable.' Before the day was out, the dean had been displaced in some off-campus cottage so that Kael'thas could have these apartments. So, on Kael'thas' first day at university, he'd completely pissed off the dean by making him homeless.

"Yeah, thanks for that great start to the last four years, dad."

Then, Kael'thas tried to focus. In moments, his life would change. How many times had he gone through it in his head? Today, and on so many other days before this one. Kael'thas stood and faced the empty center of the room. He took the ring box out of his pocket, opened it.

A very red ring, now cast in a purple hue that made it seem to hum, hover with strange life above its bright metal setting.

"Jaina Proudmore," Kael'thas mouthed to himself, "Would you… do me the great honor of…" Kael'thas shut his eyes, had another calming breath, "Marry me. Please."

Kael'thas did not focus on what would happen to him, if she said no. True worshipper of the unremitting sun, which did set, but always, always rose with each new day… he filled a vision of his future life, with her. Her filled his mind with only her 'yes.'

Why does it always feel so good, to reach? Why must hope always push and shove its way through? No, they never do feel like bad decisions, at the time…


	3. Why the Garrison wasn't in the game

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Why the Garrison Wasn't in the Game**

Some military organizations focused on defense and protection maintain control through intimidation, they manipulate a target's natural fears. Giant, over-bred horses move malingering people down the road. Barking dogs can chase down and startle even armed criminals. For some reason, on the road to the Silvermoon Garrison—and Commander Britecleff and Pyorin were skilled enough to see it, and be unashamed of using it—Ranger Tempest frightened the daylights out of Sunthraze like nothing else. So she was put in charge of Sunthraze's imprisonment while he was at the Garrison, and Sunthraze did not resort to any more damning outbursts or tavern-style brawling with her holding the end of his chained manacles.

For the first hour while Sunthraze was locked up, Tempest watched him carefully. He paced. She took the hunting pistol from her gunbelt, began spinning it around one finger.

"That's a fancy uh… gun. But it's not loaded, is it?"

"Only one way to find out."

Sunthraze stopped pacing.

After that, Tempest was gone for maybe two or three more hours, Sunthraze wasn't sure. He hoped it didn't matter. Processing him as a criminal shouldn't take all that long. Hopefully.

When Tempest returned, and it looked like she had bathed and freshened up, she had a folded up newspaper under her arm and a mug of what smelled like coffee.

"I'll take over." She grinned prettily at the soldier who had been instructed, by her, to stand there at attention and keep eye contact with Sunthraze for the last three, or even four hours. Or had it been five? Sunthraze had been trying to take a nap on the bench chained to the wall. But knowing he was being stared at like that made sleeping even less uncomfortable on the rock hard bench. That Ritten guy leaving was at last some relief.

Sunthraze turned over and saw Tempest, and she smelled lovely if he was honest with himself, but she was also still covered head to toe in green, tan and gold leather armor, and her shining weapons. Then Sunthraze felt uneasy again, and even less sure of his fate. He lay his head back, sighed, and let one arm sink to the floor, looking especially exhausted and pathetic.

Sunthraze grumbled, "Welcome back Miss… Temptress."

"It's Tempest, but I'll take it as a compliment. Finally nice to have one… Little Lord Sunshine."

"I see you still have that fancy gun on you, that you don't know whether or not it's loaded. Do you know now?"

"…Yes."

"And I suppose that's because you shot someone between here and the showers?" He turned his head and looked at her, eyes dead, "Probably some poor prisoner who wouldn't join you in the showers."

"Oh calm down, it's not my gun. It's Britecleff's. It's just safer for everyone if I carry it for him—"

"Please don't explain that to me." And Sunthraze was starting to notice that Tempest had a habit of smiling most beautifully when she was about to dole out the worst news, ever.

"…Chicken?"

At first, Sunthraze didn't hear it. He was back in his own thoughts and too worried about what he couldn't really see or hear a few paces away. They were at the end of a short corridor. Just around the corner, Sunthraze could barely see the bustle inside of the jail. Orders being shouted, prisoners in chains being brought in. The garrison complex was large, star-shaped (he had been face-down for most of the ride, but Sunthraze knew that much about the Silvermoon Garrison from books). And every now and then, he heard a cannon go off, or the peal of a lone gunshot.

For some other reason Sunthraze didn't want to understand, Tempest had two chicken legs in a cloth napkin, unfolded for him to take one. She had smuggled it in, inside the newspaper. Also, there was a barred window at the top of the wall behind her. They both could just barely see the lit ledge of the window sill. Tempest was tall enough to reach and had set her steaming cup of coffee up there.

Sunthraze backed up on the bench, hugged knees to his chest.

Tempest waggled her gift of food at Sunthraze again. She wanted him to come close to the bars. Poor wild animals in cages about to be snagged into a collar came to mind for some reason…

"Come on, Sunthraze. I know that you haven't eaten, yet."

"So?"

"I told them not to feed you."

"…Oh."

The Garrison. It was so awful.

The newspaper crunched when Tempest forced it to fold back down tight under her arm, against her breast.

"I see. So, you're not a leg man."

Sunthraze looked at the floor again, quickly.

She sighed and let her hand hang down, with the crumpled napkin full of food. "What is it, with men? Or, is it me?"

"Oh, don't worry. It's you."

"Well, what is it about me? I'm attractive, right? And I'm… kind. When it doesn't go against my duties."

Sunthraze made a face and swept both hands back over his long red hair, "Yeah? What would we actually be doing right now, if your so-called duties weren't in the way?"

Tempest waggled her eyebrows at him.

"I meant… the point I was trying to make, Temptress—is that you'd be mean to me anyway. You'd look down your nose, you'd see where I live, how I live, you'd just shun me. So whatever this act is, flirting all the time, I'm not buying it."

"It's not an act. I was like this with you before. I was in your field, remember?"

And when Sunthraze got a mischievous look, ready to catch her admitting to being on his family's land that morning, and not the royal government's, she said, "Well, I was close to there. I even met some of your friends, when I stepped on them."

Sunthraze hugged his knees again, bored, "What friends of mine were you stepping on?"

"The little… uh, Hawkstrider and cow-pats and things. So I took a break when we got back here and I had a bath. Mmm… how else was I going to impress you? Don't you like my perfume?"

If he was even more honest with himself, her perfume was making him want to screw her on a tropical beach somewhere. The thought was so fast, so bold, Sunthraze had to shut his eyes and ask himself if his mind had really just gone there. All the way there.

And that he was practically in a cage and she was on the other side of the bars was making it worse, or better somehow? Which wasn't fair. At all. So awful. The Garrison was so awful.

Sunthraze let go of one knee, then another, "Look. How long does it take to be processed? Or, put in the system, or whatever. Or are you guys planning to keep me in solitary confinement, forever? I do have chores, a life. I need to get out of here while I'm still young and awesome."

"Young, awesome… You sure you're not hungry, too?" She raised a chicken leg, waggled it at him through the bars.

Palm trees were swaying away in his mind…

Sunthraze got up, leaned lazily to the side as if he wasn't going to bother. Then, he went for it. Tempest tried to be funny and snatch it back at the last minute, but Sunthraze grabbed her fist, pried her fingers open while he made a goofy face and she laughed. Sunthraze took the chicken, ate fast. Mouth full, "Bet it's poisoned, too."

"Is not." She began to eat the other one. While she chewed, "Anyway, if I poisoned you, I'd only get in trouble with Britecleff. And, Pyorin. He wants you alive, too, so he can punch you some more."

Sunthraze had another bite, "…Some muscle relaxers or something, then. So you can throw me on the ground later, or across this fine, plush bench and have your way with me when the lights go out."

There was a bench on Tempest's side, too. Just as elegant, and chained to the wall. She finished eating, wiped her hands on one of the napkins from her bundle, and leaned forward to hand Sunthraze the other cloth through the bars.

"What's this? Map to break out? Secret tunnel that goes under the prison and ends at your bedroom?"

"Hey, I wouldn't want to spend hours in a jail with greasy hands. Go on, clean yourself up." And, when Sunthraze was done, "Now, hand me that back. And all the bones."

"What? Do they think I'd make a shiv out of a chicken bone?"

Tempest reached in, waggled fingers, and Sunthraze put the used napkin and bones into her hand. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? Doesn't kill you to have manners and act like a real lady. And that's a way cuter smile than the 'I'm-raining-on-your-day-you-peon' one."

Tempest smiled that the sort-of-compliment had slipped out, though Sunthraze hadn't meant it to. He tried to cover for it, "Well… it was good chicken."

"I'll steal you a whole henhouse next time, then." She got back up and paced alongside him, as he walked on the other side of the bars, "…And no napkins. We can roll around together in the chicken grease."

Sunthraze laughed unexpectedly. "That was horrible. That was terribad, Tempest."

Tempest paced back the other way, smiled at him. Sunthraze followed.

"…In answer to your question, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze… Britecleff doesn't usually process criminals. But today, he had to. Since you attacked an officer, and then that's paperwork ontop of paperwork, because he was the officer you attacked. And then, Pyorin and I were both witnesses… and we weren't… really supposed to be at that particular place, at that particular time. In a nutshell, Britecleff did have more important things to take care of this morning for Sylvanas—"

"Sylvanas Windrunner… Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner? Holy… Did I punch the wrong guy or what! I really, really, should not have done that."

Tempest waited for Sunthraze to take that in, "Then, only after Britecleff finished those things, could he make the time to process you. After all that stuff is filed, by Clerk Blaize, who is notoriously slow when he isn't being bribed…"

Sunthraze stared.

"No bribe for Blaize then? I'm only trying to help."

"I'm a broke Hawkstrider rancher, Tempest." He plucked at his ratty overalls. "I'm not dressed up as anything today. This is who I am. This actually what I wear."

"Okay, then. Well, whenever Blaize does finish, only then do you get your note out, to call on family, have your bail posted, whatever. So if I were you, I'd be a very, very good boy until then."

Sunthraze squeezed the bars, then grimaced and let go, "…I see."

"And one more thing…" she unfolded the newspaper, and pulled out a section, handed it to him

"What's this?"

"Pick out some undies! That's what I do when I'm feeling low."

"…Huh?" Sunthraze did take the newspaper, though. At the very least, it was better than being bored with nothing else to do for hours. And a woman he didn't want to like and couldn't have anyway, "You know Tempest, with you, and in this situation, I don't know if we're talking about shivs again or… actually my underwear."

"Undies. Your fellow underdog. Or, undu'diel, if you've never heard of it… long story. I think my celebrity undie right now is Lady Jaina Proudmoore, because the 'graduation day proposal' from Prince Arthas that Jaina and the whole of Azeroth thought was coming? That never came." Tempest then paused, grinning at this clever and salacious gossip she had that Sunthraze was so beyond passé about, standing in a jail cell as he was.

Tempest had a seat on her bench and shrugged, "Arthas stood her up; he wasn't even at graduation! Heh. Oh my do I wonder, which eager Sunstrider prince could possibly be by her side right now, busy picking up the pieces like some horny little vulture. Muahahaa…"

"What? Prince Kael'thas? He wouldn't do that."

"He's a personal friend of yours then, and that's how you know?"

"No…"

"Hahah! Well, maybe he's your undie. You seem so defensive about him already. Does that mean you relate to him, in the mess he's bound to be in? Is there an amazing woman you want, and desperately, but you can't have her? Could it be because there's bars of steel between you, keeping your hot bodies apart?" Tempest then tossed her short red hair, like she was in one of those not-so-classy theater productions, in the red light district.

Sunthraze stopped smiling and rolled his eyes at her, "This sounds stupid. And why do I care how some celebrity is suffering?" he started flipping through the wrinkly newspaper pages anyway, "Why do women always do this to newspapers?"

"Well I mean, you make fun of the big stars… or, really, you're supposed to empathize with them, and see what connections can be made, how you might help out if you two ever met face to face. That's your undie. It's also a training exercise."

Sunthraze got interested in a particular article and had a seat on his bench, too. They sat for a few moments reading newspapers quietly together. And it wasn't so bad, really. The sunlight over her shoulder, like the sunlight from a kitchen window some summer morning after breakfast… Sunthraze spoke up over his thoughts getting weirder by the moment, "Why am I not surprised that leagues of Farstriders are being trained to manipulate and use people?"

"No, it's not like that." Tempest put her paper down, annoyed, and crossed her legs. "The undu' diel concept is like one of those older Highborne magical theories, you know, from way back? You ever heard of an olvia'thon?"

"Uh, no…" Then, eyebrows raised, "Wait, isn't that some kind of creepy sex crime?"

"You have a one track mind when it comes to me, don't you?"

Sunthraze huffed and went back to his newspaper. She went on, "Well, undu'diel is like a lot of old Highborne words, ideas… that just fell out of everyday use, you know, as educational standards change, as each successive generation got further and further out from the days of King Dath'remar and the needs of the Highborne during that time. We were all different back then, right? Our ancestors, they were all taming this land, they were practically all mages. They had to be at that time. But, you know, it's a lot to learn, a lot of pressure to put on kids, so they don't teach intense stuff like that in school anymore, and nobody ever really talks about it. However, last year, the officers got together, like they tend to, and decided to bring certain things back for the armed forces. Our training, you know? If a soldier, or a spy, or a… city guard, whomever, anyone charged with the people's protection, if they are always thinking that someone out there could be their undu'diel, it encourages them to always strategize and look for resources, connections to fix a problem. Your undu'diel is your one hope, that chink of light at the end of the tunnel to overcome your darkest conflict."

"Because Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider cares whether or not I punched an arrogant jerkoff Farstrider commander who had it coming to him?" Sunthraze challenged, "Or you—you think Lady Jaina Proudmoore cares that… well, that your boyfriend, Pyro-face, is obviously a jerk?"

Tempest uncrossed her legs. A look of embarrassment crossed her features, but then she hid that, "You proved my point, though. Whatever you go through, whatever you suffer, you're not so special."

"Wow. Thanks."

"You're not alone, I mean. You're a mortal. In a way, you're just an animal, like other animals, dealing with the same kind of stuff. You're not so unique that no one, nowhere, can understand what you're dealing with. Following me?"

"I guess."

"And it gets better. If you're in the same place, on the same continent, in the same kingdom even… and you're both stuck with the same problem... You're bound to run into each other. Or, at least, get close enough so that your lives touch. Then, you never know? They might help you. You need the same help, after all. Your buddy in the trenches, your best friend on your worst day, your best… bad friend, I don't know. Your undie. Your fellow underdog. Your sidekick. Your hero! Ask the sun and all the gods out there that you meet him, or her, someday. Pray that you meet your undie. Because that is when, no matter how bad your life gets, it will start to get better."

Sunthraze folded his section of the newspaper flat in his lap. He watched Tempest for a long time. She took a pencil down from her behind her ear and started flipping pages, circling things.

"…You're cute."

She looked up.

"And you're sexy. And you're fun. And you do smell… amazing. Like water over my body, on a beach."

Tempest was afraid to do anything more with her hands, then.

"And now… she's speechless."

"Well… you've been resisting me all day. And you only just met me."

Sunthraze relaxed against the wall, folded arms beneath his head, "You shouldn't have, or need an undu… whatever."

"…diel."

"No undies for you."

Tempest blushed.

"I'd tell you the same thing, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze, but you're in a cage."

"I'm in your cage. Let me out."

"Oh, I see. That's where the compliments came from, all of a sudden. I should have remembered that I hog-tied you earlier and threw you across the pommel of my horse… that's not how all the fancy romance novels tend to go."

"Cause maybe ours is a trashy one."

Tempest turned redder, "I'm not letting you out until it's official for you to go. And that's final." She went back to circling things in the newspaper on her lap.

Sunthraze came up to the bars again. There was one crossbar running mid-way up, so he was able to lean his elbows on it. "Hey. Compliment was meant as read. I just really don't want your ape-man boyfriend sitting on me again, that was really unpleasant. And whatever else…" his brows knit, then he straightened and wanted to look more confident, "well, I listen to my instinct and I know something still isn't right about you chatting me up like this. It's part of your training or something too, right? To keep me sweet? Get me to confess to things I didn't do?"

"I'm just being nice to you." Tempest said in a careful, even tone.

"Eyup. Well, anyway… either way… that doesn't mean I'm not tempted. And I already know you're not going to let me out of this cage. Where would I even run? I couldn't hide forever. I just want to go…" he sighed, "Back home. The legal way. And then never piss off a Farstrider who's best friends with Ranger-General Sylvanas herself, ever, ever again. I can't believe I got myself into this mess."

"What did Britecleff tell you… before? That got you so angry? You kept saying that Anasterian did something to your family."

"I was afraid that he…" Sunthraze was afraid to say Anasterian's name, "maybe he did. I don't know. But my whole life, my memory of my father, was fine until Britecleff brought it up."

"Brought what up, exactly?"

"…Nevermind. You're giving me that weird look again."

"What weird look?"

Sunthraze leaned in, tried to see down the hallway instead, see the activity at the front desk. He gave Tempest an impatient look.

She remained calm, "What does your tattoo say?"

"It's not for a lady's ears. Next question."

Tempest gave him a disbelieving look, "I'm really not a lady. That's just your fantasy."

Sunthraze waited for more of her questions. But then Tempest, curiously, had become very quiet. Sunthraze tried to see around the corner again, notice if it had anything to do with the soldiers and prisoners going back and forth. Nothing out of the ordinary, from what he could tell.

"…Find any good ones, then? Your undies?"

"Hrm? Oh… no. I've done my undie this morning already. It's definitely Jaina. I'm just circling… places I'd like to live. Things I'd like to buy. I'll be able to live outside of the barracks one of these days. Next couple of years, maybe, when I'm a full officer, like Britecleff. He has this… really nice house, though he's never there. Other than that, nice clothes when he's off duty, nice girlfriend—and she's a titled heiress. Gods, sometimes I hate him, he has everything." But Tempest was smiling, "Well, he has a nice life and he worked hard for it. I want that."

"You'd be an officer so soon?"

"Mhrm. I'm on the fast track. Came straight over here from a military school. I'm uh-rah all the way, baby. Joining up with the Farstriders was the best decision I ever made."

"Oh, that explains it. A reform school, for bad girls."

"I said 'military school.'" Tempest looked at him, annoyed. Then, she stood on the bench and reached up for her coffee on the window ledge. She sipped it.

"I've got this feeling, all of a sudden, that you're not supposed to have snacks down here?"

Tempest nodded, "Yeah, I skipped lunch. But how am I supposed to relieve Ritten for lunch and I don't even have time for my own lunch break? You get innovative in the jungle." She finished the coffee, then came over and offered him the rest of her newspaper, "I don't need it, really. But you need it more than I do. I've got to go take care of something else."

"You're going?"

"Look, handsome. They'll call you when Britecleff's ready to interview you and set bail for your crime against him, so hang in there."

"That seems rather… unfair and unethical."

She shrugged one shoulder, "Like I said, welcome to the jungle. I'll call private Ritten back."

"Ok. Alright, one more thing, before you leave. Tempest, you said that the person who is your undie… they have the same problems you do, the same bad luck. So you end up in the same situation, because you have the same problem to solve. You need them in order to fix it, and you're lucky to find them. Your best worst friend, something like that?"

"Yeah." She smiled, "You've got the hang of it. You're quick. And here I thought you didn't care-"

"It's Pyorin. That… pie guy, whatever his name is."

Tempest backed away from the bars. "Wait…"

"He's your undie. You need to get rid of him."

"Mine? But he's my boyfriend. I don't think you really understand how the undie thing works. Look, your boyfriend, or your girlfriend, whatever—the person you're in love with can't be your undie, technically. The two of you would be doomed. The relationship itself would be the main problem you have in common, so you couldn't proceed…"

Sunthraze gave Tempest a knowing look.

Then, as it all began to sink in, "…Mine?!"

"It's so obvious. You're supposed to be with him, but you're busy flirting with me. Maybe it's you're training and that's why Pyorin hasn't completely lost it yet, because he's in on it too. Or maybe do you want me, or even if you don't… Anyway I'm thinking, who else is there? There have to be others. But the main tip off is, this Pyorin guy is making you miserable. I heard him talking to you like you were… the way no woman should be spoken to. And it wasn't just Pyorin talking to you that way. It was him and it was Britecleff. You've settled and you're angry."

"We… when we fight, using that… ability. It gets intense, we don't even know what we're saying." Tempest flared, "Like you have any idea what it's like to be one of the only women in the Farstriders—"

"If those Light spells are so…" he lowered his voice, "Distracting, then how can you know what you're doing? So maybe you shouldn't be using that… ability, either. A girl like you probably shouldn't be mixed up in any of this."

"Are you my daddy, or something? How dare you! And I'm over here, sneaking you chicken, a-and newspapers. Risking getting caught. After how disrespectful you were to Britecleff, and to Pyorin. But I managed to make myself feel sorry for you, didn't I? That's what I did!"

"Keep your voice down. I'm just trying to do you a favor, too."

"You don't even know Pyorin. And you don't know me." Then she grabbed his hands on the bars, squeezed them hard against the metal, "You don't a thing about me, or else you would not have said that! Got it?" She let go, her voice faltered, "You're such an ass… Ritten!"

Ritten came, resumed watch, glaring at Sunthraze harder than ever. Sunthraze came to the edge of the cell, craned his neck, watched Tempest leave. She almost made it to the sliver of the outside doors that he could see, just barely, before she moved her hand to cover her face. He'd made her cry.

"…Well, crap."

"Ah." Ritten pointed, "You've got a newspaper in there. Tempest is good for that. She must like you."

"Yeah, I'm the most popular prisoner in cell block D. Little miss sunshine, making everyone's day. Somebody hurry up and give me a bunch of roses and a tiara, so I can make my speech."

Amber-headed Ritten lightened up at that. "And you're funny."

"Funny-looking, mostly."

"D'ya hear the news about that 'I'm-a'princess' Jaina, being stood up on graduation day? Yeah, that's right! Bust those Humans down a notch. Best thing I read all morning."

Sunthraze wandered back and stood near the bench. He wondered if he should really chance speaking to this Ritten guy, or not. All the Farstriders were so… well, plain awful. Shifty. Or was it the Garrison itself? Everyone trained to play some head game, and you never knew which side you were on. Sunthraze then sighed, tried to keep his mind off things, "I guess. But do you really think our Prince Kael'thas is the kind of guy to… swoop in there, so pathetic, and pick up the pieces? I mean, if Jaina already said 'no' so many times. And not like that… like that cute girl way, when they say, 'no, maybe later,' but like a scary, life-threatening, 'my boyfriend is Prince-freaking Arthas, a vengeful Knight of the Silver Hand, kind of no.' "

"Well, that's what Tempest says. And did she tell you, Pyorin's sure of it too. He has a little pool going, if you want in. Do you want in?"

"I don't have any money, obviously."

"Kael'thas is definitely going to go for it, though. They… well, they just know, those two. Come on, I'll tell the guys up at the desk to put your bail money on it."

"How could Tempest possibly know him, Prince Kael'thas, better than… than most people? Guess I also shouldn't be surprised that someone as moral and upstanding and not-a-womanizer as Pyorin is making money off of our prince's terrible misfortune." Sunthraze had a defeated seat on the bench and leaned elbows on his knees.

Ritten took a few paces back, so he could lean a bit against the edge of the bench on that side. Same trick he used earlier that day, to keep comfortable standing hours on end. Funny that Tempest came in was there eating chicken, drawing on a newspaper and hanging through the bars at him practically, and nobody corrected her. Sunthraze decided then that some institutionalized games were definitely going on.

"Why are you so worried about Kael'thas? Heh. He your undie or something?"

"For the—last, freaking time! Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider is not my undie!"

"Then, why be so defensive about it?"

"Ugh!" Sunthraze curled back up on the bench and covered his eyes.

They came and got him out of the cell around dinner time. That was what Sunthraze suspected it was. The last meal of his day. That wasn't even going to get.

"Kind of a… get this stamped, approved and moved on before dinner kind of thing, do you think?" Sunthraze asked Ritten as he walked beside him through the front doors of the jail, and then to the left, manacled. "I mean, they're obviously not feeding me, but even Farstriders want to eat before they go home, right?"

"I can't give you any details." Then, after a few quiet footsteps, "…Sorry."

"S'okay man. I get it." Sunthraze leaned in, "Thanks, Ritten."

Sunthraze hoped that meant something. He figured, if bribes made Farstriders go round, then great. But all he had to bribe Ritten with was his personality.

He and Ritten were flanked by four guards, two front and back. The six of them walked under a long porch with columns, then across the gray, gravel yard into another building. This building looked more official, and there were desks, more clerks. Marble floors.

"Wow, way to make a starving prisoner feel like shit."

Ritten snerked laughter at that.

Then they went upstairs. Up three flights of stairs, to be exact, and then down a corridor with proper offices. Phoenix emblems and red and gold flags everywhere.

At the end of one very grand hall with statures of intimidating spread-legged statues of war Elven war heroes, they came to a double set of doors. And Sunthraze's favorite two people in the world were standing there, just as commanding as the heroic statues, guarding the way in. Ritten made a gesture, handing Sunthraze off to Tempest and Pyorin. The prison guards and Ritten saluted them, then went back the way they came.

Sunthraze tried not to look at Tempest. But then, he was stuck looking at Pyorin.

Pyorin grunted at him, "Just get in." And he pulled one of the doors open. Sunthraze went, and another set of guards waited there. There were soldiers posted every few feet. None of them looked friendly. Tempest playing with her gun earlier looked like a teddy bear compared to them.

Teddy bear Tempest… or maybe with a pink bow around her neck, waiting on the bed, just for me…

Sunthraze tossed his head back, wanted to kill himself.

Tempest walked with her fingernails just over the scabbard of her sword. She tapped them every few steps. Some song, some game? Which one? He caught her noticing him. Tempest put her hand back down, looked straight ahead. Sunthraze felt bad over that.

Then, Sunthraze realized she was miming playing a guitar—she played the guitar?! That turned him on again.

 _Please, oh Light… kill me…_

They passed a large, ornate desk. It wrapped around a corner. Five clerks were busy filing papers, making notes. Sunthraze guessed Blaize was the bored-looking redhead, too old to be in the Farstriders and still stuck that kind of work, whose eyes lit up when he saw the Farstriders march fresh meat by.

It also meant Blaize was very sure who Sunthraze was by now, because he'd seen his entire record.

"Evening."

Both Tempest and Pyorin inclined their heads in turn. "Evening, Clerk Blaize."

Then, a few footfalls later, Pyorin mumbled, "…More like jerk Blaize."

Tempest made an adorable muddled half-giggle. Sunthraze reminded himself that it wasn't for him, though.

"…Thanks again, for the chicken."

Pyorin frowned, "Chicken? You brought him chicken? I missed lunch too, but you don't bring me anything anymore."

"Don't we have a job to do?" Tempest sounded commanding all of a sudden, and both men stopped what they were about to say next. So it ended it there. Well, not really. Sunthraze kind of wanted to wrap the chains of his manacles around Pyorin's neck. He was full-on imagining himself doing it, and her enjoying the sight of it, too.

They came to another door. Tempest opened it, and shook her head at Sunthraze. She whispered harshly, "Don't fuck this up."

Sunthraze stepped into the office, unable to really hide his anxiety. He began to wander around looking at things.

Britecleff was at the desk, quietly observing Sunthraze do all that. The curtains were mostly drawn, plenty of shadows. A sign of someone who'd developed a strategy against having to work long hours while stressed, in strong lantern light, "Have a seat."

Pyorin positioned himself outside, with the other vigilant guards. Tempest closed the door on them, and then gave Britecleff a loud salute. Sunthraze turned around again once he was in the chair.

"At ease."

"Yes… s-sorry."

"I was talking to my other flying monkey over there." Britecleff gestured at Tempest, annoyance and stress from a long day plain on his face.

Sunthraze turned again and watched Tempest fold hands in front of herself, spread her feet apart. The leather creaked. The green seemed to embrace her curves while the curling gold piping framed her stomach and thighs, covered in tan. Then, his eyes focused on the curious soft glow of the silver gilded pistol she wore at her hip. It wasn't really positioned for her to grab it and shoot it, though. It was more centered…

"Stop staring at Tempest's crotch, Sunthraze. Yes, women exist. And they look great in uniform. But have some goddamn sense in my office."

"I wasn't—" Sunthraze shut his mouth. And he was about to tell Britecleff he didn't sound very respectful himself, but it was the worst time to do that, obviously. Sunthraze breathed out through his nose, focused on keeping his temper in check this time.

Britecleff didn't say anything else for a while. He kept dabbing his stylus in ink, writing a long paragraph of something. Then, he carefully lifted that aside. Next was a page with lots of blank lines on it, breaking up the text.

"…Name?"

"Me?"

"Your name." Britecleff repeated.

"Lord… no."

Britecleff exhaled, rested the pen in the inkwell.

Sunthraze's head was spinning. Or he was possibly very hungry by now. Maybe they wanted that. Well, he didn't know. That didn't matter at the moment. The Britecleff of right now, behind the terribly fancy desk, in the office done in dark wood, reds, suntouched scarlet curtains, he was far more intimidating. Sunthraze couldn't imagine making the decision to punch Britecleff in a room like this.

"Uh… Sunthraze. Just Sunthraze."

Sunthraze saw Britecleff write, _Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze…_

"I didn't tell you to write that."

"…It's an official record, Lord Sunthraze. I'm not going to lie on an official record." Britecleff kept writing, filling things in for him. This time, without asking first, "I only just now got to your stuff, I apologize… though the arrest record did get past Clerk Blaize's desk, unfortunately." Britecleff set down the stylus again, lifted away that sheet of paper. He was faced with another. Very empty.

Britecleff sighed. He leaned an elbow on his desk, felt his face. His cheek was still bruised, from where Sunthraze had hit him.

"This form…" Britecleff tapped it with the gloved finger of his other hand, "Is designed for me to tell what you did wrong. There's no way for me to explain that it was a misunderstanding."

"…Was it? It felt like…" Yes, Sunthraze wasn't doing well, being so hungry, "…like a lot of stuff happened?"

Tempest cleared her throat. Sunthraze turned around in his chair again.

"You should listen to her instead of just getting your ogle in. She's pretty smart. And Tempest reads me very well."

Sunthraze looked back to Britecleff. Somehow, now, Britecleff was warm. The sliver of window at the edge of his desk was bright, it could have been blinding. Was it? But it must have just been the way the room was facing, the position of the wall, the way this section of the star-shaped Garrison was facing. The room itself was still, somehow filled with so many shadows.

"I can't tell a lie, Sunthraze. I provoked you. I said something about you, about your family, that I had no right to say. You saw us doing something that any normal Highborne citizen would be disturbed to see Farstriders do. We said awful things. Yes, to a lady." He pulled himself up, another sigh, "We said awful things to a lady. Sorry about that, Tempest."

In what felt like such a small voice, "It's okay, Bart."

"Bart?"

"Commander Bravo Artanyan Britecleff, at your service. Or, Bart Britecleff. Or Bart. Or Britecleff."

"…Oh."

"And we were very close to land that was not our property. So, you did what any moral person, with a desire to be a part of the problem and not the solution, would do. You defended the lady. You stood up to the villains. You tried to put them off your land. Moral… outrage. It's not a crime in any book I consulted, to file the last of your papers. Honestly, according to every publication that I do have, to untangle this for you, and in my own opinion… Sunthraze, you are a menace to society."

Britecleff put the pen back in its inkwell. He drummed fingers on the desk. He sucked his teeth. "But then, society also ain't much, in my opinion. Well, present-day Highborne society, anyway."

"Oh, that's fine. It's only the thing you're meant to uphold, protect and serve." Sunthraze tried to wave a dismissive hand in his manacles.

Tempest almost laughed.

"You have a very smart mouth, Sunthraze."

"…Sorry. I don't think I can help myself, at times."

"No, I don't think you can. I wish I'd seen that earlier today." Britecleff looked over everything on his desk. "In my job, every day, I meet young people who want to steal everything that isn't nailed down. Or they want a license to beat up other people. Some think that women in the army are a sport. Or, they just want to get paid to lop heads off, or they're already going downriver for lopping heads off. Or, they're reform school rejects…"

Was Britecleff looking over at Tempest? Sunthraze sat straighter. The room had sort of chilled.

"I see people off to prison or I help mentor them through their training. Sometimes, especially recently, I swear I can't tell who is who, or where they're going, or even why. Or why I'm even still here. And I'm young, too. I'm nowhere close to retiring. But… young people, well people younger than me—it sounds so strange saying that, I'm not that old… People, any person, who becomes morally outraged and takes a stand… I don't meet young women and men like that every day. Sunthraze, you're the reason I'm still in this job. People like you."

"I don't… what?"

"I don't want to fill out any more of this form. I think… I think that you'll pass basic fine. You should, if you're in shape enough to beat up two of my officers and myself." Britecleff paused, irritated, "I'm better with my gun. Well anyway, from there, and that's about two months on, you should be making enough money to send home as well as save for yourself. I've seen it done before." He leaned over the desk, "I'm willing to front the cost of running the ranch, hiring additional help in the interim, all of that, myself. I don't offer a charity, I offer a loan. I've done that before, too. I'd be proud to do it, and I'm confident you'll be able to pay me back, as I'll be signing your paychecks in the first place."

Then, Britecleff waited.

Sunthraze became very aware of the golden clock, ticking above the bookshelf against the wall. Warring phoenixes, their fiery wings encircling the clock face and rays of the sun radiating out from that.

"I don't… why are you talking about giving me money? I thought you had to set my bail."

"If you sign up for military service, right now—a much simpler form—then there will be no bail. I can get you in with a special note of recommendation. That I'd be happy to write. Then there's your family military history… And you have no criminal record. Not yet. It's still sitting on my desk, and I'm sure I can still bribe Clerk Blaize out of a simple arrest record. Not like that hasn't been done before." Britecleff pulled open a drawer, which made Sunthraze jump, but he unwrapped what looked to be a caramel candy and put it in his mouth.

"Want one?"

"I'm… so confused."

"I recruit Farstriders for a living. And I oversee almost everything they do here at the Garrison. Everything from mail duties to getting ready to go to the front, with the Amani Trolls. Well, when I don't have to do this." Britecleff grimaced, and he looked particularly informal, pushing a caramel candy into his cheek with his tongue in order to do that. Sunthraze wondered just how old Britecleff really was, they could have been hanging out over drinks, the way he carried on, "I really dislike paperwork. It never really tells you about people, what they need, how they're truly doing." Britecleff sucked on the candy, for a moment, "Sunthraze, you're much better than the Farstriders I've had to put up with. Even lately." He smirked at Tempest, "Even today."

Leather creaked behind Sunthraze again. This time he didn't turn around. Britecleff was the one being more interesting.

"Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze, I kind of want to wind you up, like you were this morning, and set you loose on some dissidents down at the Spire, or some Armani Trolls or something. I can send you in any direction you wish, actually." He smiled, candy between tongue and teeth. "Would be amazing. Right Tempest?"

Tempest came up from the wall. She must have. And then Sunthraze could feel her standing, just behind his chair, though he hadn't heard her coming, "You know me, Commander. Another toy to play with…" she suddenly grasped his shoulder, "I'm all for it."

"I still don't understand. I… I beat you up? And I pissed her off? Did she tell you that I pissed her off, down in the jail? I was sure I screwed that up."

"Screwed what up?" Bartcleff smiled, very amused with Sunthraze all of a sudden. And it was also a definitive raunchy look.

Sunthraze opened his mouth, looked around, scandalized, "And now, you're making fun of my love life! Are you? But he's an official-Can he do that?"

"What love life?" went Tempest.

"Oh don't you even start—"

Britecleff went on with the serious bit, "You stood your ground, this morning." He leaned down and pitched the tiny gold candy wrapper into a trash bin Sunthraze couldn't see.

"I attacked you."

"I should have held my own. I couldn't. Not against a Sunthraze. And not after years of a damned desk job… And yours is a family tradition that got broken recently. I say, let's unbreak it. Do you think your family would have any objection? I can't see any."

"Now just hold on here!" Sunthraze stood, raised his hands, jangling in the chains and cuffs, "I want these things off me."

"Technically, you're still a prisoner." Tempest told him, pushed Sunthraze back down to sit.

Britecleff ordered her, "Take the cuffs off, Tempest. I think we're finally negotiating."

Tempest looked concerned, but she hauled Sunthraze up again by the arm, then unlocked the manacles around his wrists.

"I'd thank you, but I think you enjoyed that, playing with my chains that you so happily put on me in the first place."

Tempest rolled her eyes, "Shut up."

Then, to Britecleff, "And you! Was this whole thing about recruiting me?"

"Would I throw someone in jail first? And there's a long line of… wannabe delinquents, like I said, waiting to get into the Farstriders. If we had met anyplace else, I would have offered you the same, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze. And I could have done it with a smile, not with a… a black eye." He gestured at his face.

"If I'm innocent of any crime, then I want to go home right now."

"You can't. The system is skewed against you like I explained. Any form I fill out in this room will result in you standing trial."

"That doesn't make any sense. You just said I was innocent!"

"It doesn't work that way. Sadly. But help us change the way things are. Come on. Sign up. You were going to do it anyway, in a year or two. Most living on the edge out in Eversong end up doing it. There's no shame in it."

"Oh, the poor country boy has no choice, has he? Send me home, then, and I'll see you in two years, what do I care! I won't be blackmailed into joining the Farstriders."

Tempest flared, "Hey, It's a damn privilege!"

Britecleff stood as well, raised both hands for everyone to calm. "Look. There's another thing I want to say, that might change your mind. It might change everything. It has to do with… before. What I shouldn't have said… to you."

There was commotion outside.

Britecleff hesitated, with so much noise close to his door. Then he seemed impatient to get it out, "The thing is, King Anasterian Sunstrider is your—Pyorin! What the hell is going on out there that you can't take care of, yourself!"

Pyorin came into the room. He held the door open for someone. Britecleff went right into cussing down his own officer, and the uninvited guest, but then a man entered the room and his fury made everyone stand up straight. He was an older gentleman, red-faced, wearing a round black cap and a monocle that flashed green and gleamed for a moment in the weak light, before he turned into the shadow. His robes were red, velvet-black and bright gold. The robes of a Magister, or something like it. A black sash with a royal phoenix could be seen tied round his upper arm. Sunthraze wouldn't have known, but Britecleff and Tempest were sure that only personal servants to the royal house wore emblems like that.

"This was open…" The old magister had a fistful of an envelope. He put it in Britecleff's face, "When I received it, sent by a secure messenger, using a diplomatic bag that could not be searched, this letter from his majesty, the prince, was already slit open!"

"Advisor Sorn, I will definitely find the one responsible—"

"Every single time that you have said that, this has happened again. And again!" Sorn shouted.

Sunthraze raised eyebrows. Sorn had the hand in his robe, holding something that was concealed.

Tempest thought it was odd Sunthraze was staring at another person's crotch so soon, especially this person's, then followed his eyes and noticed the problem, too.

"Hold! You will disarm!"

Sorn brought out an impressive mageblade. It was slender, needle like, but glowed with a wide blade of sparking violet arcane magic when he raised it.

"I wonder, what I, a member of the royal house of Sunstrider, will have to slice up, before the corrupt Farstriders get the bleeding point! What is private remains private! How is Prince Kael'thas' life a joke, in any measure? No wonder the papers are full of it! Kael'thas is the future king of this kingdom! If I had my way, it would be treason. And maybe it soon will be when I show Anasterian this!"

"Tempest, get him out of here."

She repeated, "I said, disarm!"

"Tempest, for the sun—this is Anasterian himself shouting at us right now, don't you understand that? Better I die than you stand on ceremony and bring the whole army down. Get… him… out of here!"

Tempest didn't want to, but she got Sunthraze carefully by the shoulder, guided him around Advisor Sorn, so as not to stir this man's temper any further, and then quickly made for the door.

Sorn asked, "…Who was that?"

Their last view of Britecleff was the king's personal advisor closing in, magical knife in hand. Britecleff spread his feet, managed to make himself look just as ferocious, though he could not draw his own weapon.

"…He needs his gun." Sunthraze worried after the door closed. He looked from Tempest to Pyorin. Pyorin and the other guards looked like a bunch of scared rabbits. "… I think. Why can't Britecleff have his gun? I mean, if the advisor to the king can have that creepy… dagger thing."

"Did you tell him?" Pyorin took Tempest aside.

"No, why would I? I don't wanna get in trouble for your stupid stuff."

Sunthraze was still worried, "Uh, guys?"

"Shh!" Pyorin edged near, tried to listen. Not that he had to. Both men were yelling, before long.

Tempest shook her head, gently pushed Sunthraze away from the door. She pointed to a bench a ways down the hall. "You wanna be a good boy? You wanna help? Sit."

"Is he going to be okay? I didn't know the king's advisor… went around threatening people with knives?"

"It's not a squeaky clean system, you'd be surprised. Remember what I said? Welcome to the jungle?"

"Yeah, the Farstriders set up their prisoners for questioning after not feeding them all day, and the king sends his cronies to go stabbing his own military officials."

"That blade silences magic…" Tempest explained, but then Pyorin started making noises for her to come back to the door, "…and voices. Sure, Sorn could stab Britecleff with it, but he'd have to do it hard, you see," she took a step back and thrusted her own arm, "Hard, like that, straight through is chest. Or, his temple."

"…what."

"I'm kind of a weapon snob. But that Vortex Mageblade also interferes with the magical recording devices in the room, it can re-write your interview being picked up by the scrying orbs or something—what is it, Pyorin!"

Sunthraze freaked out, "Wha… what the hell! Re-write my… and you guys were recording me?"

"Of course we were recording you with tiny scrying orbs all over the room. But Britecleff knows how to erase those, don't worry."

Pyorin snarled, "Not so loud, Tempest, and will you get your ass over here!"

Tempest jogged back over.

"He's been yelling for you through the door, and I'm not supposed to be listening to him do that—"

The door opened for Tempest. She went in immediately and closed it behind her.

" _No sir… no. I only carry Prince Kael'thas letters on Thursdays, sir…."_

They sort of heard her say.

" _No, Advisor Sorn, not to my knowledge… No, it never leaves his hands, either. Yessir… of course, sir… Well I did say yes, but that doesn't mean—"_

Then, they couldn't hear anything. Sunthraze tried to get up from the bench, but then Pyorin noticed and angrily waved him back down.

Tempest's voice flew up, _"But sir—sir! With respect… Right, but that was just a training exercise. All Farstriders have to… No, Advisor Sorn… I'm trying to explain… Yes. No, he's just an upstart we arrested. His name? … It's… Well, of course it's Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze."_

The next voice was definitely Sorn, his hold relaxing on the magical blade, certainly. _"A member of the house rival to House Sunthraze was standing in this very room? And he's still listening outside, is he?"_

Everyone in the hall froze when Sunthraze was accused.

"What the—" Sunthraze mouthed. This was fast becoming the worst day of his life. He hadn't even known about a rivalry, none at all, until Britecleff said anything that morning. His mind raced. He considered that even this was part of some elaborate set up. Too many… too many damn coincidences. Sunthraze considered all these things perhaps too fast.

Even as Pyorin shook his head at Sunthraze, began walking toward him and gesturing for him not to do it…

His cuffs were off anyway. And he was an innocent man, wasn't he? Sunthraze's heart raced. Anger welled up in him. Outage surged. Then embarrassment. Finally, cold dread riveted him. It was impossible. He shouldn't. No sane person would dare. Especially when he could just explain. He was there by mistake, wasn't he? Right?

The door began to open. A flash of red and gold robes.

Perhaps in the end, Sunthraze even imagined it was angry King Anasterian himself, finally coming for him.

Sunthraze ran for it.

Pyorin cussed him and sprinted after.

"Yes, apprehend that spy!"

"Advisor Sorn. As Tempest and I already, very carefully explained to you… He's just a boy, and he's scared." Britecleff remained calm, "Please don't—"

Sorn turned to Tempest and the guards waiting for Britecleff's order, "All of you, any who lay a hand on that boy and stop him cold will be redeemed of any charge I was considering against you. Now, go!"

Tempest wanted to stop it. She locked eyes with Britecleff at the last moment, but her commander was lost in a different panic of his own.

Tempest ran with the others. Sunthraze got through the double doors by being very polite to the guards on the other side and thanking them for their help, a beat before Pyorin charged through, fuming and shouting for them to get their acts together. Sunthraze went around a corner, and then another. There had to be a different set of stairs, somewhere. He looked back and saw a slew of armed Farstriders running down the far corridor where he had just come from, certainly after him. He hid in an alcove in the empty hall he was in now, trying to think, unable to do so. Then, a woman ran past him, almost all the way down the lonely hallway, before she realized her mistake and jogged back.

"You're a real wily fox, aren't you?"

Sunthraze grabbed Tempest and kissed her, pulled her into the alcove with him, "Shh, shh… Please don't give me up."

Tempest was more startled by the kiss.

He got angry with her, "Yeah, now you know how this seductive spywork stuff feels. You cracked into me earlier, now I'm cracking into you. Please—when you know I didn't do anything, get me out of here!"

Her eyes raised, looking down the hallway, at others certainly coming for them.

She mouthed, "… It's too late."

Sunthraze grabbed her hand and ran. They ran together down that hallway, then another, "Dammit! Show me which way! Guards are everywhere."

"It's the Garrison, dummy!"

Sunthraze pulled her down another corridor. This one was especially quiet, it should have been okay. But it was a back route to the clerks' desk. Clerk Blaize leaned out to see what the matter was. The others stopped their work as well.

Sunthraze spun around. His heart pounded in his ears. He saw them coming on all sides. This time, Farstriders were running down every single hallway that met at the center, here in front of the clerks, the command center where everything was processed. From all four directions.

Sunthraze looked up at Tempest, eyes pleading with her. Then he gave in and put his arms around her waist, took his time and kissed her again. This time, properly.

Their lips parted. She said, "Oh gods, Sunthraze…"

When Pyorin slammed into him, Tempest went down too, because she was holding Sunthraze just as tight.

"This time!" Pyorin pushed Sunthraze's cheek against the cold white marble floor. "We really are going to lock your ass up and throw away the key! You… y-you spy!"

Advisor Sorn came walking up next, his red and black robes sifting over the floor. Britecleff's leather boots hit hard behind that. Sorn looked down, sparking purple blade still in gloved hand.

"You don't remember me, you may very well make that claim," Sorn shook his gray head at Sunthraze, "But you see, the problem is, young Lord Sunthraze, I definitely remember you." Sorn then gave the order, "Lock him up, with the spies and enemies of the empire. This one is my prisoner now. The prisoner of the House of Sunstrider."

Sunthraze looked at Britecleff, terrified as they pushed him to his feet. Sunthraze wouldn't let Tempest go. He squeezed her hand and she let him. He shuddered, unable to hide the raw fear now welling up inside of him. Everything from that morning now rising to the surface, "Please… p-please… don't let them… take me…"

Britecleff stepped in and pulled their hands apart. Then held Tempest back, where she was safe.

Sunthraze watched Britecleff and Tempest just stand there, sorrowful, but unable to do anything else for him. The funny thing was, now, as cruel as his fate seemed ahead, they almost felt like they had been friends. Friends fight, don't they? Friends make mistakes. Or, was that just an instinct? A weird, twisted instinct the middle of all the madness.

Pyorin then took Tempest's hand, whispered in her ear.

Something in Sunthraze flared up, then. It was far more violent. It felt like a phoenix.

"PYORIN! I'll kill you!" Sunthraze kicked and gave the guards the hardest time he could manage before they took him through a set of metal studded doors that slammed and resounded, it seemed from everywhere.


	4. Good ole' Fennore

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 _Today, in Pandaria…_

It rained gently outside. Pyorin, Tempest and Kael'thas were now crowded on the little purple couch. As the water dripped slowly against the window ledge outside, Liadrin eyed them all with great disdain.

"Kael'thas… we'll get to you proposing marriage to Jaina Proudmoore through blackmail later. And it also shines a light on some of the current issues we're having with the Human kingdoms. The ones who do remember never forgot, did they?"

Kael'thas looked aside, miffed, "Anyway, I still get the Dalaran University alumni magazine…"

"But Pyorin! You… you arrested Sunthraze, twice? And he wasn't even really guilty of anything?!"

"Tempest did it too."

"I did not! Not… exactly."

Pyorin glared, "And you were messing with his head, doing that crazy sekuu spy thing."

"Well… yeah, I did do that." Tempest smirked, "I rather enjoyed that, actually."

"Hrmph."

Liadrin threw her hands up, "Oh, this is awful. I mean, I read some things in the papers back then, I remembered bits and pieces… but not like this." Liadrin slapped hands on her legs and raised her eyebrows, "Just how many times did the Blood Nexus almost, well, cannibalize itself? We almost didn't exist, several times, now! I don't think the Silver Hand goes through this with their paladins, at all. How could they even manage it?"

Sorn looked up, from tracing blue magic through the air, "That's just it. They don't."

Tempest leaned in, "Well, you forgot to count Prince Arthas. He went rogue and destroyed a bunch of stuff, you know. Killed his own father…"

Liadrin waved her hand , she fixed eyes on Pyorin. "Well, it's your chance to clear things up, if you even can. How did you go from… well, being a bonifide jackass to actually becoming any kind of leading figure?"

Pyorin cleared his throat. "Well, you see Britecleff—"

Tempest shut her eyes, "Do we have to say his name?"

Kael'thas turned down the side of his mouth, "I don't want to talk about him, either."

"Fine." Liadrin conceded, "We don't have to talk about anyone who caused a lot of pain, betrayed or otherwise tried to wreck the Nexus… who isn't already in this room." Liadrin glared at Pyorin.

Pyorin drummed fingers on his leg and went on, "Becoming a Bloodknight completely changes you, I swear. Being as straight-arrow as I am today, it took a helluva lot of work. I clearly used to be this big, nasty idiot most of the time… Ugh, I hate these memories coming back to me now." Pyorin looked up at the ceiling, sighed.

Everyone waited for Pyorin to go on, to explain what started to change his mind about Sunthraze.

"Well, believe it or not, I think it was Demon-lover."

Liadrin looked truly frustrated, "Who?"

Tempest sat back, "He means Fennore."

"Ah, yes." Pyorin smiled, "Let's talk about how I finally met the man I… that I remember I used to call, 'Dirty Uncle Fennore.' And by the way, I keep getting crap about not being a smart enough guy. But I am plenty smart."

Tempest rolled her eyes next, and started shaking her head, mouthing 'No.'

Pyorin brightened, "So, let's start this off with saying, no matter how it seemed at first, okay, I was definitely _not_ an idiot."

 _Long ago, in Silvermoon…_

Pyorin definitely wasn't an idiot. After what looked like Sunthraze going into a panic and trying to kidnap his girlfriend, and Tempest not even putting up a fight… Pyorin arranged for some time on leave, at a lovely hotel with a view of the Sunspire, a romantic dinner for two and a night in the plush honeymoon suite.

Pyorin figured he had good timing, too. Convincing Britecleff that he and Tempest needed to go on leave wasn't so difficult.

At the time, Britecleff stared at Pyorin while they sat in his office, fingers arched before the kind of brooding expression only a commander could give.

"You'll lose your two best rangers, probably, if we don't get some kind of morale boost after this."

Britecleff's frown darkened, "I just sent an innocent man to the keep at the Sunspire, reserved especially for the most dangerous criminals in Quel'thalas after a series of bureaucratic blunders that got out of my control…"

Then, as Pyorin gave another charming smile, began to defend his intentions, "And you did too!" Britecleff glowered, turned, and bounced a dark leather ball he usually kept in a stand on his desk, off the wall nearby. "You're just worried about getting laid."

Pyorin thought through his next statement, carefully. He'd just been painfully reminded that Britecleff was not an idiot, either. "Commander, Tempest is at the center of our mission… as Farstriders, as… future paladins. I hate to drop so many sensitive phrases in this office, but she has men pawing at her and shouting at her all of the time, and this ordeal with Sunthraze, ontop of all of that…"

"So you want to paw at her, alone, instead?"

"Commander, a lot has happened, an intense amount within the last day. Someone in her charge tried to abduct her before he disappeared, and what he did, what we didn't stop-slash-prevent either, may constitute harassment. But I may also be able to bring her around with a quiet evening."

"Engaging in more harassment-slash-fraternizing."

"Britecleff, you've gotta give me a break here. I almost watched that hot-headed prick walk away with my girlfriend. I need to diffuse the situation, I'm not as one-track minded as this seems. You even could… well, I don't want to tell you what to do, but I'm sure you want to see your own girlfriend. Lady… Lady uh…"

"Lady Weaver."

"Yes, her. I'm sure you could use a quiet night, too. Seargent Major Windemere would approve that for you. A chance to clear your head before filling out all that paperwork? And come to think of it, isn't Windemere technically off duty tonight, at his son's wedding? He's always after you to get married too, you know."

Britecleff kept frowning, kept bouncing the thick leather ball off the wall by his desk. At last, he sank back into his chair.

"Yeah, get the hell out of my sight, Pyorin. Well, I guess I'm just mad. You must have earned some good leave… somewhere along the way. You and Tempest. But only one night. I want both of your butts back here, first thing in the morning."

"But check out isn't until noon—"

"Look here, Pyro—"

"I'm going!"

Which left Pyorin and his lady lounging in the sheets, enjoying a box of chocolates after midnight.

"You choose first." Pyorin slid the freshly opened box across the maroon sheets. Tempest was lying on her stomach. She leaned up on an elbow and took one, but realized she didn't want to eat it.

"I… can't."

"It'll just melt on your fingers, and then if we get the bed dirty…"

She popped it in her mouth. "Are you kidding me? The things people do in hotel beds already? The things we did in this bed, already?" She picked up the box, balanced it on Pyorin's abs, then cuddled against him.

"That's… gonna fall off, Tempest."

"Off of your rock-hard abs? Never."

Pyorin couldn't help smiling.

"It's just that… we can even see the Sunspire from here. And he's in there. In some cage. A worse cage than in the Garrison. The plan was always to charge him, set bail and let him go… now he's… he is in serious trouble, Pyorin."

"I thought seduction interrogation, when done correctly, is mostly unilateral. My dear, you've been caught up in your own little game with him."

Tempest kissed Pyorin's neck. "I'm still yours."

"I'm sad about what happened to that punk, too, but what can we do? And we're not just… Farstriders, you know. We can't draw any more attention to ourselves and blow our cover. Britecleff wouldn't want that. No one… none of them would want that."

Tempest reached up and had another chocolate.

"And think about it. How do we know he's not a spy."

"Pyorin…"

"We'd practiced in that field plenty of times before. He chose that day to come and watch us?"

"Pyorin, you're better than this…"

"And then, he could have walked away from Britecleff, but he had to go and punch him in the face!"

"Just because Sunthraze is in serious trouble now, you're going to… I don't know what you're doing? Why are you giving up your beliefs just because the royals are involved now? You don't have to change who you are, what you think, just like that." She snapped her fingers.

"Well what about you? You turned on me pretty fast yesterday morning. You were getting so aggressive about him and those… lame tattoos of his, I thought I was going to be sick."

"Well, maybe… maybe I slipped a bit. I came on really strong during the fight with Sunthraze. You should have seen me yesterday afternoon, though. I handled the tightrope a lot better."

Pyorin frowned.

"They're nice tats, honestly—"

"Why are we still on that topic?"

"…And he isn't so bad. Sunthraze was nice to me for some of that, while I watched him, you know? Pyorin," she leaned her head back so that she could look into his eyes, "Sunthraze really did think I was in danger when he first attacked us, we both know he isn't some spy. You just became a chicken when Advisor Sorn showed up and shouted whatever he wanted us to. Really, all this is your fault."

"It's not my fault."

"Right. Right, I guess… we were both following orders. I'm just so angry about what didn't need to happen at all!"

"Look," he put the chocolates away and pulled Tempest into him. He kissed and caressed her until she started smiling, "Can't we talk about or… do something else right now?"

"Like talk about how it's been eight months and we're still not exclusive?"

"I'm going to bed."

"Fine. Go to bed. I don't even get a kiss goodnight, do I?"

Pyorin inched down underneath the blankets kissed Tempest someplace she wasn't expecting.

"Pyorin!"

Well, after that, they went to bed.

A morning getting ready at o'dark thirty to head to work after that was, of course, dreadful. Pyorin was able to get up and get dressed faster than Tempest could.

After taking his shower, Pyorin toweled off his hair, and began to comb it. Then, he shaved carefully. He rubbed more steam off mirror so that he could see himself better, make sure he'd got everything.

A face framed by so much dark hair, a strong jaw. Thick eyebrows above eyes that searched, mulling over everything. Pyorin knew that he was an attractive man, even very attractive. But he didn't like to look himself in the eye, make a big thing of it. Eyes, clean teeth, clear and shaven skin, everything was there where it was supposed to be.

It bothered him that other people, especially women, seemed to make a big thing about his appearance. He didn't remember experiencing so much pressure before coming to Silvermoon. Before Silvermoon, it was just fun, a game. Now, it was the real thing, somehow. Like a battle. And even then, it wasn't just the way you were expected to look, the way you dressed, it was the way you were meant to talk—you had to be clever about it. And what you needed to talk about was critical. Everyone asked what you did for a living, right off, where you went to school. Wrong answer, and you got locked out of a lot of situations.

"Private First Class Pyorin—I'm over at the Garrison."

That was a good answer. Pyorin wondered why he was saying that out loud, now?

"I've got… many medals. I took out an alpha voodoo priest at Zul'Aman, I got my promotion, was commended… I've got the best girl. The most beautiful girl…"

Pyorin supposed he sounded like a pratt. Did he? Maybe a bit. Pyorin patted on some after shave, then turned on the water to wash his hands.

Beautiful woman in the next room, and it was a very nice suite, in a great hotel. A view of the actual Sunspire, the Highborne palace, where he worked on most days, was right next door. He knew the queen, personally… It was a good life.

It had to be.

"That punk kid Sunthraze. Who the hell is he?" Pyorin didn't like the way his dark hair looked, began combing it the other way, "Red head, this wild, orange-red hair… his hair's the color of a pumpkin."

Then again, Tempest wore her hair red, too. And Queen Celestia, of course, was a redhead these days. Maybe… he could lighten his own hair. If that was a thing. Was it?

"All those tattoos… I think the biggest, stupidest one is in… Trollish, right? Is that a thing, too? Trollish tattoos?" Pyorin frowned. He didn't have a tattoo on his body. He never even considered it, it just wasn't something he craved. Pyorin began to rub some lotion on his bare arms, his large shoulders still a little wet from the shower. "Maybe I should get a tattoo. I could find something better than his stupid tatts. Cover up all this… skin. Gods, when did I get so pale? Does he tan?"

But Sunthraze would be tanned from wearing overalls and working in the sun all day, outside.

Pyorin looked up and saw his consternation in the mirror. What was he even doing right now?

"I'm too big."

What? Pyorin had never worried about that before.

"If I keep bulking up, I'll look like some… tree. Some idiot man-bear. Britecleff is thin, well, lean. More thin than me. Sunthraze is short, pretty small. Light and also strong, like a dagger. Well, I'm not fat." Pyorin raised up his arms to stretch, then he flexed, wondering about his musculature. Wasn't it too much?

Not that he had been trying to put so much on. That's how he was, how he'd always been…

Pyorin stopped and bit the inside of his cheek, stared at himself in the mirror.

"He's younger. He's tan, he's better." Pyorin began to put all this things away, back into his kit. "There's always someone better than you. I'll just… get better than him, that's all. And what am I worked up about? He's in a prison."

But the impression Sunthraze left on Tempest. She wasn't going to forget that. So it did still matter. Because there would be someone else like Sunthraze, wouldn't there be? So he would have to up his game and be better than the next guy, to keep her. To keep any of it.

Pyorin looked around the bathroom, checking to be sure that he'd got everything. They were going to check out soon.

Then, he took off the towel, kicked it aside on the floor, and got dressed. Old trick, faster to keep everything in his bag and do everything in the bathroom, rather than wander about the hotel room, pulling open drawers. And chancing the woman seeing him and wanting another round, which took up even more time. Usually, they did. If he could just… not have a woman jump on him sometimes. Let him be himself when all he wanted to do was get dressed, get through his life. It was embarrassing and it was annoying.

"And he's an aristocrat, that Sunthraze—everybody's from a damned…old family in this city, damn him!"

Why was he saying this out loud? Why did he care, why was he letting this stress him?

It was hard, doing anything, being anyone, in Silvermoon. He should be sick of it.

"No, it's like… being born. It's bloody, it's messy, it's painful, but that's life. You just keep your head down and you get through it. Someday, soon, I'll have my perfect house, my own land, the perfect woman… money, whatever I want. You just have to… fit in, and pay your dues. I can do that. I mean, I was already born. If I can get through birth, then I can get through this."

Pyorin worried that he sounded stupid. That Sunthraze kid, he had so much… charm. So many clever things to say, even when he was being mean, he was sly. Finesse, that was important in Silvermoon. You had to be subtle, you had to carry a joke…

Pyorin knew he wouldn't make it. Not really. Wasn't he an idiot, anyway? There were a lot of things he didn't even get about life, like right now…

"I'm not thinking about this." Pyorin finished dressing, got his dark green duffle bag with the red phoenix stamped on, one last check to see if he had everything… Tempest's stuff was everywhere… then he left the bathroom.

"Babe, get up."

Tempest was in a mess of sheets, naked, snoring her head off.

Something about Tempest relaxed him. Well, when she wasn't actually awake.

"That's an awful thing to think…"

Well, no. When they were quiet together. When they took breaks and he watched her smoke, or when they were standing guard, or just… chilled out. He wished she could be that way more often. Tempest was more like a… a meteor shower. He had to be so…on, all the time, for her. And she wanted so much. Sometimes, it felt like too damned much.

Feeling stressed again, Pyorin poured himself a glass of champagne. There was still some left.

"Hey, can I have some?" Oh, so now she's awake. Here we go again…

Pyorin swallowed what he had, poured himself another glass. "Sorry, that's the last of it."

Tempest raised up a bit, frowning at him. Pyorin watched her body. Nice ass, beautiful breasts, nice… everything. Tempest was exotically beautiful. And there was something about her as well, that she had chosen a warrior's name that was so uncomfortable, so… not-sweet and not welcoming. She had been a challenge to get and keep. She didn't like to give anyone an easy time.

Tempest had grown up Kezan, in the Goblin kingdom. A rare occurrence, but she half-explained that her mother was a very successful entertainer at the casinos down there so that's where they made their living. Well, whatever kind of 'entertainment' that was, those naturally alluring features clearly made their way down to Tempest. The wild, rare Highborne island girl, who probably spent all her days gyrating in some coconut-scented breeze. Pyorin smiled at the thought. He enjoyed being so silly sometimes, imagining…

She asked him sweetly, "You already showered, babe? You don't want to shower with me?"

That was why Pyorin had already showered, so that he could have some time alone to himself and not have her making comments all the way through them getting dressed in the morning. About all the things she needed, all the things she wanted that he just didn't have answers for…

Eight months and still not exclusive? Wasn't that what she said last night?

So? Well… shouldn't they just enjoy themselves? Why did she need the security of… well, maybe he could see it, how that was a long time to wait, to know if someone even wanted you, in that way… But he just needed more time, that was all. It was complicated.

Tempest wordlessly went into the bathroom. The door shut.

Pyorin realized he must have been ignoring her, and she didn't like that. Whatever.

"Maybe slamming a door on your boyfriend, when he only wants some friggin' space, is just how they do it in Kezan."

It was rude, but Pyorin wondered if he should care so much.

"What was that?" The bathroom door opened again. And Tempest did look annoyed.

Pyorin smiled at Tempest, like it was nothing. He reached a lazy arm out to her from the chair, "Miss you babe… hurry up in the bathroom so I can kiss you some more."

Tempest was suspicious, but she closed the door again. This time, gently.

Pyorin let his arm drop and melted back into the chair. He watched a sunbeam on the floor, trying not to feel anything.

As he looked up again, around at the luxurious room, he felt like a liar and a traitor. Because of… a few things. But really, it was still Sunthraze. It kept coming back to him. Sunthraze was innocent, but he was in jail. Technically, if he thought about it—no, definitely—Pyorin hadn't needed to arrest him. Sunthraze needed punching in the face, but he didn't need for Pyorin to arrest him. Both times.

Pyorin wondered if there was more to this life.

On the way out of the hotel, every hotel concierge, bell boy, doorman ever seemed to know Pyorin's name. It had been the same last night as well.

Tempest, already in an off mood, became more and more irritated as they departed. Out front, they mounted their Hawkstriders and rode at a casual pace down the street, with other Hawkstriders and foot traffic.

Silvermoon, downtown Silvermoon, was impressive. Beautiful white stone buildings, golden statues of King Dath'remar and famous magisters, red and yellow flags everywhere. The sharp, yet sweet scent of arcane magic came in on a breeze, here or there. Foreigners said it smelled like an exotic flower.

Pyorin looked over Tempest again, as she rode her Hawkstrider, in uniform, looking very much the part of a vigilant ranger. Also, very desirable. She could be threatening, eventhough you wanted her. That was her charm. Then, Pyorin thought of Sunthraze again. They met weird guys like that all the time, had to arrest some of them. But Sunthraze was kind of sticking to his ribs. Yes, he felt guilty.

"You alright, Tempest?" He said that, rather than what he really wanted to say. Their first stop was the Sunspire, where Pyorin worked on most days. Then, Tempest would go on alone back to the Garrison. "Damn! I forgot to get you breakfast. Sorry, Tempest."

"Well, we both forgot. I was just thinking… how did you get such a nice a hotel room, on such short notice, where all the staff know you, like it's your hang out place?"

Pyorin should have realized Tempest was that angry with him.

"I do work nearby."

"I didn't realize you had that much leave and free time, to be lounging around, alone, in a hotel, in a honeymoon suite that often…"

"It's not like that…"

"Who is she? Or, who are they? You have a lot of female fans up at the Sunspire, don't you?"

"Seduction interrogation is part of my job, too."

"But you're sleeping with them? Do you… love any of them?"

Pyorin got impatient, "Yes, I'm with other women. That's why I don't want to be exclusive. But you don't have to be exclusive, either, Tempest. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"But at the beginning you said… you call me your girlfriend. Now, you're just changing the goalposts up on me. You led me on to get me this far, admit it!"

"No, that's not what's going on." Pyorin shook his head, "We're both adults, right? And anyway, it's tricky, because of my work…"

"Are you sleeping with Queen Celestia?"

"Will you keep your voice down!"

"…Do you want to? Is that your big plan?"

Pyorin was too angry and insulted to answer.

"You're supposed to be a Farstrider, first and foremost. And a lot of other things… Unilateral seduction, my ass…" Tempest wound her hand around the reins a few more times, tight.

"Tempest, I do care about you, but… We don't have that kind of relationship. I hate to come out and say it like that. But it's how things are now, if you need me to… to spell it out for you."

"Well I want a relationship!"

"We have a relationship, we can have a relationship—let's just… play it by ear, though."

"Play what by ear, my feelings? The way I feel torn apart, everytime you say you care about me and then you do the opposite? I care about you, I would never do that to you. And then you keep changing things on me, I don't know whether you want me or you don't want me or what we're even doing together! Eight months is a long time to feel like that, Pyorin!"

"Will you just… will you shut up? I can't be everything for everyone all of the time!"

"Did you just tell me to shut up?"

"No, I didn't… I didn't mean to—"

Wrong answer, clearly. Tempest kicked her Hawkstrider and rode on ahead without him.

Well, that was how Pyorin started his day. The rest was standing guard, or whatever Queen Celestia and her ladies-in-waiting liked for him to do while there were definitely plenty of palace guardians around, at court.

They were all in red and black robes with large phoenix wing shields. Pyorin stalked back and forth in a green and tan Farstrider's uniform, from time to time.

The truth was, the queen had one fascinating conversation with Pyorin some months ago, at a ball, and had sort of adopted him. "I like the keen eye that only a Farstrider ranger can pass over a room. And, Commander Britecleff, I'd feel so much safer…"

And then that was it. Pyorin went from running raids in Zul'Aman to following the richest women in the kingdom, and perhaps all of the Eastern Kingdoms around, day in, day out.

So, yes, he was that attractive, he supposed. Sometimes, it was a problem. Pyorin listened, he reported everything he could back to Britecleff. Britecleff passed it along, so it could be used in some way. Pyorin never knew how, really. Overseeing needlepoint sessions, gossip about other aristocrats, their husbands' next political move, or the dress color of the season… His bit in the resistance. Pyorin thought about Tempest. Then, he worried about Sunthraze again. The whole thing made him angry… why did it feel like, up until yesterday evening, he had a good thing going with her, at the Garrison, and here, at the palace? But somehow, he was sure, Sunthraze was the one who wrecked it. Pyorin couldn't enjoy being in either place, now. How could he? Things would need to calm all the way down, first.

Today, the entertainment was a blonde lecturer from Stormwind. He was apparently so fascinating because he was 'mysteriously handsome', whatever that meant, and he was a Highborne who had dared spend his time among the 'unruly Humans these days.'

"I am Fennore Hollowmare, a holy priest of the first order." The man bowed to the women assembled in the stuffy room. And just as Pyorin was thinking it, Celestia made a face, and that's all it took, before her chief lady gestured angrily for one of the maids to go and throw open a few of the windows. Next, all the ladies fanned themselves after Celestia did. White butterflies fluttering beneath everyone's rosy chins or cheeks.

Pyorin tried not to sigh too loudly, and stalked back in the other direction.

"…I've served with Prince Arthas, Uther the Lightbringer, and many other famous Human and Dwarf paladins. As a Highborne, I chose, on my own, to serve and assist with the plague, first-hand. I suppose, then, you would say, Fennore Hollowmare is a… dark horse."

Polite laughter filled the room. Queen Celestia was genuinely smiling at him. He had this… awkward brand of scholar charm. This almost childlike idealism that his lengthy studies and no doubt dry adventures could make all the difference in the world, if they all just believed. Pyorin knew the sort. All the ladies in the room fawned like they wanted to hug him.

Pyorin came to a stop. He took the chance to look this Fennore over. A middle-aged blonde man with heroic-looking features. In fact, he was built like a warrior. Nothing reminiscent of a paper-white conjurer slumped over magical tomes day in, day out, at all. Strong jaw, intelligent-looking eyes. Confident smile. But there was something… dark hanging about him. The way shadowpriests and warlocks often had fel energy latent in their enchanted robes, or at their fingertips if a shadow spell had just been conjured.

He was really a holy priest? Pyorin was training, secretly with Tempest, to be a paladin. He was also more skilled at picking up on Troll voodoo magic and shadow-based traps in the Thalassian countryside. This man almost reeked of fel energy. There was definitely something… off about him.

"…the need of the Humans is dire. The Plague is like nothing man kind or even elf kind has ever seen before."

And that had to be the reason why Ranger-General Sylvanas had sent Fennore over from the convention in Stormwind. Pyorin nodded with understanding. He then walked the other way, passed his eyes over the nearly bared busts in the room.

"And that's when Uther said, 'Raise the Light! Raise it high for all in this cavern to see. And the succubae and even the ire speakers, they stepped back. They had to! That is the power of the Light, my ladies. And, gentleman." Fennore acknowledged Pyorin then.

Pyorin felt a bit put on the spot. He wasn't meant to be treated like 'one of the girls.' Though, he supposed, he was there in that awkward not-really-a-palace-guard limbo anyway, because there were no courtly rules to allow Pyorin to be put in a three-piece suit and sit there beside Queen Celestia looking like a toy lord of the manor in the first place. So, he was dressed for work and pretended to work.

Pyorin squinted an eye at Fennore, who smiled even more, well aware of the joke he'd just made, at Pyorin's expense.

Fennore went on, "And that's a very interesting thing when it comes to ire speakers, you see. Female demonesses are even more aggressive while in heat, and ire speakers are the worst. So the Light really, really, unraveled their battle plans, while we were in that particular chamber of Naxxramas."

"Priest Hollowmare."

"Please, my queen," Fennore bowed low, "You must honor me by calling me Fennore."

"Priest Hollowmare," Celestia began again. She was comedic in her own way, "I wonder what you really know about… the sexual proclivities of demons, or whether your inexperience in that area is relevant in this lecture?"

Pyorin looked from Celestia to Fennore. She was definitely baiting him. It was like someone telling Pyorin what the heck he thought he knew about fighting the Amani Trolls.

"My Queen, I…" Fennore cleared his throat, "Demon physiology… sexuality, in particular, is incredibly fascinating and highly relevant, actually. Though I know it is outside of the normal study of a priest, even a shadowpriest. But I find, it is through understanding other sentient beings that we better understand our own race, and furthermore, there are cases of aggression, heroic challenge, in the mating rituals of many demons and they make for very good stories. Actually, in one case with an ire speaker in the Outland, I hear…"

This guy… was crazy. He was talking about Demon sex in front of the Queen of Quel'thalas!

But, as Pyorin looked around the room, he realized the women were enjoying it. They were blushing, whispering to one another. Celestia crossed hands over her lap, smiled knowingly. The queen was a plump readhead, abundant curls everywhere, covered in emeralds and red gems. Celestia knew exactly what she was doing. When Fennore finished, Celestia stood, applauded and told him 'it was a good show.'

Another way to make fun of Sylvanas' consistent efforts to make the royal House of Sunstrider care about the Plague, and the Humans beleaguered by it.

At tea time, Pyorin was able to wander around alone in the hedge maze outside. He strutted, lost in his thoughts. He kept an ear out for the ladies, some of whom were strolling together in the sun with parasols, but he was under no allusions that he was there for their real protection, anyway. The palace guard didn't really associate with him, they didn't know him and acted as if he was just some fad that would pass in time.

"Apple?"

The voice was familiar. Painfully familiar. Fennore had found a pair of apple trees in an alcove set with white benches and a fountain. He was standing up. Pyorin had the same problem. The benches weren't meant for grown men, like them. It amused Pyorin, that Fennore had realized it also.

"These are very good. Silvermoon White. Gods, I've missed these…" Fennore crunched through another one.

Pyorin sighed, walked over, kicked at the gravel.

"Oh, come on now. Being a royal boy-toy can't be that bad."

Pyorin blurt out laughter.

"So, who's your girlfriend, here at the castle?"

Pyorin thought of Tempest just then. Gods, it felt like he was managing two different lives. Two whole different planets, "I do have a woman here, a few, but… Well, I won't say their names. Their husbands would mind. And frankly, sir, I don't know you."

Fennore let out a low whistle. "And your other girlfriend, the redhead back at the Silvermoon Garrison?"

Pyorin put a hand in his pocket. He looked around, but they were in an isolated part of the garden and he didn't really hear the women anymore, which meant they could not be heard, "A fellow spy? I guess it feels like everybody is a spy these days. The Eastern Kingdoms must really be going to shit during this… plague, because they feel the need to stretch us Farstriders in every possible direction."

Fennore shrugged, "Actually, I used a mind vision spell on you, just now. I'm not sure if I really am a spy or not. Ranger-General Sylvanas said to come here and be 'as charming as I ever am.' I give these ladies about three weeks before they figure out how strange I am, and then the fun is over. And I'm getting paid to lecture. I'm pretty good at that. So I have a few weeks to infiltrate the ranks before Queen Celestia eventually gets bored and does away with me. It's a living, I guess."

Pyorin brought his hand out of his pocket. A white note fell out. Then, he bent over to pick that up, and another little paper squeezed its way up out of the top of his boot. A third, a pink one, fell out of his shirt.

Fennore looked dismayed, "Uh… so you're sort of bad at this spy thing, aren't you?"

"Nope…" Pyorin grunted as he picked everything up, "A deluge of love notes. They're not that secret. By the way, this is how it works around here. You can respond to all the notes at once if you have good enough excuses. Bed hopping, you know."

Fennore raised his eyebrows. "Well, you don't sound happy about it."

Pyorin looked very tired, unfolding one, passing his eyes over it quickly, then unfolding another one.

"Late night?"

"With my girlfriend. The one from my real life. I'm trying to keep her, and I do care about her… but then I got mixed up in all of this stuff. Right now, I'm just not sure…" Pyorin couldn't finish that. And he wasn't sure why he even started.

"Really? Wow. A guy could get used to this…"

Pyorin shook his head, his voice deadpan, "It's so horrible. It's so wonderful. Conscript with the Farstriders, and this, too can be you. All the uh… attention I get is the only reason I haven't transferred to deeper in Eversong Woods, by now. In another year, maybe I'll do that. Just pass on downstream. It's kind of getting old… Want one?"

"And how!" Fennore snatched the one Pyorin offered. "This'll be a nice treat. Normally, I can only get laid in Stormwind. That's why I relocated after university."

Pyorin wondered if he should ask Fennore what he meant by that. He chose not to, "I'll just tell Lady Feyrenil I never saw the note. Or that it fell out…" he whispered, "They don't actually mind, they just want someone young, who isn't their husband in that bed, at the end of the day."

They talked a little more about women and how the Silvermoon aristocracy had become thoroughly corrupt, before realizing they were enjoying the conversation far too much.

"Think they've all completely gone, now?"

Pyorin nodded.

Fennore crossed his arms. "Good, then. Show me your sword, and the first spell you all tried to conjure with it."

Pyorin drew his ranger's longsword. A good, balanced weapon. But there wasn't much time to admire it, before it began to simmer with golden magic.

"Good… good… that's the seal. What about the judgement?"

Pyorin grimaced.

"Does that hurt?"

"Why do I feel like I'm at the doctor's?"

"You sort of are… though why a burning phallic object reminds you of that is not something I will ask you about."

Pyorin wondered if he'd heard that right. An upstanding warrior of the Light, even a priest, who'd fought with Uther, who had been recommended by Sylvanas herself, making off-color jokes like that. And bad ones.

"Wait, are you making fun of me?"

"Oh, you've still got time to turn it around." Fennore smiled handsomely, "You're not really a man-whore yet, don't worry."

"What?!"

Fennore moved on, "Any idea why it hurts?"

"Neither of us can get past that point. We were hoping you would know."

Fennore tapped his clefted chin.

"Not to make it sound like another sex joke, but… when it comes to the Light, you need to use protection. You're in pain. Unless that face is about how… heavy it feels? Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so. Like a more complex spell is heavier."

"Yes. Precisely. Is it a burning sensation, or a tingling or…?"

"Could we talk about this some other way?"

"Not really, no. It amuses me and stops me thinking about how you're risking your life and sanity each time you conjure the Light as an unordained paladin."

"What?!"

"Just joking. Yes, then the first, most obvious problem must be your issue. Ranger Pyorin, paladins don't just wear plate because they're going into battle. The kinds of Light spells they use are powerful. They can, indeed, rip you apart. I can't believe you've been training without plate for so long. How many months has it been? And who's the other paladin? As strong as you are? If not, their health may be at risk as well."

"Oh, she's pretty fit." Pyorin got lost in thought.

"The other paladin is the girlfriend, then? Oh bother…" Fennore itched through his long, abundant hair. "Please don't take offense, but you sound to me very much like an idiot."

"Excuse me?!"

"I'll explain why later, other than the fact that you're pissing on your own doorstep… try a healing spell for me, please?"

This time, for a reason Pyorin really hesitated over, Fennore squatted and wanted to look up at him conjuring. "Go on. It's good to see how the Light travels up, through the body."

"You're an expert right?"

Fennore grinned, "I happen to be the best. And cough, please."

"If you touch my balls, you weirdo, I'll kill you."

"Nothing like that. You know, I used to watch Prince Arthas heal like this all the time. Watch him and critique him. He was really pleased by the results. For a few raids, I was his personal healer. Now, before the ladies hurry back…" Pyorin began to conjure, "Nice, very nice… thank you. Some more, please? Really stick it out. And don't forget to cough."

Fennore watched, thought, stood, walked a circle.

Pyorin finished. "What was all the… coughing for?"

"Healing spells, well… heal. It should have restored your breathlessness, but it didn't. So then, it wasn't effective. You now look very much out of breath."

"I am…" Pyorin couldn't finish.

"Honestly, this is sad. It's almost a travesty. To start with, you all need some damned books. A primer on the Light would keep you out of all this trouble. I'll lend you some."

"No. That'd be too obvious. Britecleff forbade that, it's too dangerous if they're found."

"I can completely understand that. Compared to the enlightened priesthoods of Ironforge or Stormwind, Silvermoon's standards on schools of magic are highly restrictive, almost outdated and backwards… you can see the result. You're making yourself ill every time that you try that Light spell. And just because some magister is afraid you'll become too powerful some day or take his job—but no, that won't do. You need books. And it's as easy as sending a letter to my man, to have him send over my second trunk, so you're getting them."

Pyorin had a seat on the very low bench. He kept taking heavy breaths.

"It also sounded to me, when you were coughing… that there was a blockage." Fennore patted his belly, then roved circles down lower in the air, over his crotch, "Somewhere in this area."

"Okay… okay, I think we're done."

"No, no, no, nothing like that. It's a chakram, an energy node, a hub in your body, around there. A paladin must be completely attuned. All your spells reach out to people, they enter their bodies and infuse them with restorative powers… you can't reach other people if you don't actually care about them, have that level of awareness about them. You're cut off, then. And imagine if you aren't aware of your own suffering."

"I don't think I understand."

"Humans aren't self-righteous. Don't believe what you read in the stilted Silvermoon newspapers. They're righteous… get the difference? They care. They don't numb that part of themselves. It's an amazing thing, the Human spirit. Pyorin, every paladin needs to do special exercises, regularly, to keep up a certain state of… elasticity between themselves and other beings. That means mindfulness… as I said before, attunement. We don't have months for you to practice it, to work out the kinks while I'm here. I'm only here for a few weeks. But I would recommend, if there's someone who is troubling you, causing this… blockage, this disdain for other men. Or, women. That you settle it with him. Or her." Fennore then leaned in, as if Pyorin had something on his nose. Pyorin touched his face, self conscious that a stain was there. "No, it's a him. Oh! How interesting. Do you… swing, in that direction? I never picked that up, usually I do…"

"Stop talking. You just used a Mind Vision spell on me. Right?"

"Yes."

"Well then, you know it's someone I… practically put down in the keep, beneath this castle. His name is Sunthraze and he's not supposed to be down there. In the end, I feel… pretty bad about that. But there's nothing I can do."

"How sad. Oh, how sad." Fennore shook his head, reading more and more of the situation without Pyorin's permission, from his mind. "Hey! Your girlfriend, the redhead, is a knockout. Wait, is that Marianne Cuomo? Holy gods!"

"Who's Marianne? My girlfriend's name is Tempest, though it used to be Lucia. Well… it's a long story. According to her, she chose a warrior name, which is a kind of hippie thing to do."

Fennore snapped his mouth shut, for the first time that day, "Nevermind. None of my business." Fennore extended his hand in a gentile fashion, "I think we've lingered here long enough. We'd better go back inside for part two of my lecture, or we'll be missed."

Pyorin began walking. Fennore looked for where to put his apple core. He leaned around, looking behind the bushes, then carelessly pitched it over their heads.

Pyorin smirked.

"Yes. I am very funny. I also always wished that I could do a warrior name. I've always wanted one. Fennore the… I don't know. Fennore the hero!"

"You're not heroic. Seriously, man, you're too strange for that."

"Fennore the… the... Ladykiller."

"Ugh. Something less obvious?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Something you said earlier, Fennore, I'm finding I have to ask…" they turned a corner and saw a clear, broad sunlit path back to the castle. About a quarter-mile ahead, the sun room had a wall that was almost all windows, white carvings inbetween. "Why is it that you can only really get laid in Stormwind? That's what you said, right? I know that's what you said."

"Well, being a strange man… I'm not very impressive here, I guess. But in Stormwind, surrounded by Humans, I'm exotic. I served with Arthas and with Uther himself… I'm a catch."

"You could… not be so strange all the time?"

"That's like asking you not to be a jerk."

"I never said I was a jerk."

"And a bit of a dim bulb. Pyorin, nobody out and says they're a jerk. I picked it up during conversation, and mainly my mind vision spell, naturally."

"If I punch you in the face for being a jackass, will you see that coming too?"

Fennore raised a finger, happy to point out something else. "…No."

Their boots crunched on the gravel for a few more steps. After arguing like that, the two men were somehow more comfortable with each other.

"Pyorin. I really would get that blockage seen to, today. I'm surprised it didn't affect your performance last night, to be honest."

Pyorin seethed.

Fennore went on, "It's interesting how blockages of certain chakrams affect sexual performance, not just in men, you know, Humans, Elves, Dwarves, mortals. Less so in Gnomes. But also with demons. Especially demonesses."

Pyorin wondered, if he didn't answer Fennore anymore, would the conversation die?

"That will be the second part of my lecture. Why don't I just throw the whole 'Symptoms of the Plague' out the window and focus on similarities in sexual dysfunction between mortals and demons? They seemed to like hearing about that?"

"Since I have to listen to this too, can we talk about something more normal?"

"Oh, it is normal, very normal. Many make that assumption, but it's all nature. Demons exist here, now, in the world, in nature, you know. Really, the word 'demon' shouldn't be used, as it's associated with hell and that's a mostly abstract concept, anyway. Now, if you look at how different religions in Azeroth approach the concept of hell…"

The closer they got to the palace and the oh-so-very familiar sun room, where Pyorin often spent days with the ladies of the court, the more Pyorin wanted to slow down, not get there.

"Ranger Pyorin, may I now… ask you something that's been on my mind, about you, for the last hour or so?"

Why did it feel like Fennore was about to propose marriage or something? Working through that uncomfortable notion left Pyorin with little time to object.

"When I was feeling the chakram, you know the one on your crotch…"

For the first time, of many times to come, "Fennore!"

"I sensed, well, despair. In you. You are terrified of something, Pyorin. It felt to me like… you believe you are on the great edge of something, a cliff, an abyss. Well, however I perceived it—you are ready to give up on yourself, the ones you love, this whole world. That's how much pressure there is. Does that make sense?"

Pyorin had this sinking feeling, that he knew what Fennore was talking about. But then, Pyorin didn't want to think about it. "We don't have time—I don't have the time, Fennore, to worry about stuff like that. A soldier just fights on. It's like being born, you see. Sometimes, life is this bloody, violent, messy business, but you have to keep your head down and get through it. And then it will be better, on the other side." Then, Pyorin hated himself for trying on that silly analogy again, from this morning. Who was he? He wasn't charming, he wasn't good at stuff like that. He was hardly… King Anasterian himself, to go around trying to be that clever. If Pyorin was honest himself, he was pretty stupid, wasn't he?

"You're a poet. Like birth! How amazing… hard times are like the very first hard time any person, creature… demon experiences, like being born. I really liked that—can I use it? I'll give you credit, of course."

Pyorin looked at Fennore like he had two heads. "It wasn't… I'm not good at that, in that way."

"No, that was very insightful. Don't put yourself down so easily."

"…Well, thanks."

"However incorrect your analogy is, about your current situation."

They were now close enough to see the carvings over the windows of that side of the palace. Faces of long-eared Elven cherubs and kneeling does nibbling grapes so peacefully over the miasma of suffering and foolishness burgeoning at the brinks of every glass pane.

Pyorin wondered if he should hand that idea off to Fennore too… "Wait, what did I get wrong? Life is just like that, sometimes."

"Ah, but what if there's just more suffering on the other side, after you keep your head down and you get through? Your better day isn't guaranteed, is it?"

That depressed Pyorin even more. And he looked it.

"Pyorin, you have to make a better day. Don't make excuses for being stuck in your miserable situation, the painful 'oh, that's just the way it is' that you've become used to."

Now they could see the faces of the women beyond the curtains. Some noticed the two men coming toward them, began to wave giddily, flirt.

Why did Pyorin hear snakes hissing at him, though?

"I won't tell you, Pyorin, what I believe is causing you to feel so desperate. If I tell you, you'll just become defensive and wallow in deeper, like a pig in poke. What you need to do is get up and do something about it, face it. That you are a warrior at heart, but you can't confront it… that you can't just go and your shield, your sword, run in and deal with it… that's been driving you a bit crazy, hasn't it?"

"A pig in a poke? So now, I'm a farm animal…"

"Just like that. We were getting somewhere, but you're already resisting me. It's why priests really shouldn't give unsolicited advice. I know that you didn't ask for it, but I wanted to try and give you… something."

Pyorin itched the back of his neck. "Yeah, you gave me something, alright."

"A little flame, I think. A little bud of Light that will grow and bloom... but only if you let it. Pyorin, don't snuff out the Light inside of yourself. You have the power to do whatever it is that you need to do. You shouldn't feel afraid to, and don't fight me on that one either, because I did sense a lot of fear in you, like I said." Fennore waited, really looked Pyorin in the eye, "But I also know that you can make it."

"And now, you're going to ask me to buy your book, or donate to your research, or join your… your cult, or something."

"No." Fennore got very serious, pointed again, spoke with conviction, "I'm here because Ranger-General Sylvanas told me to come and because I miss sex with other Elves."

Pyorin smacked his forehead. And he didn't mean to laugh so heartily at Fennore, either.

"And then there's the paladin thing, too. Right, Fennore? Priest Hollowmare?"

"Oh, right. The Silvermoon resistance movement and all that…"

The two men let their voices quiet down as they approached the doors. A palace guard opened one for them and they went in. The close air in the room, the sallow light from the candelabra, the dust, the deep red hues of the furniture and curtains, it all closed in.

Fennore patted Pyorin on the back, then went to mingle. Pyorin watched four or five finely dress ladies rush into some strange group hug Fennore offered, arms spread, as he neared the podium.

Pyorin knew that he shouldn't, but this amused part of his brain started to wonder what Fennore was like in bed, what a strange priest like that was really offering a woman? Reading their minds and telling them their desires? Asking them to get down on their knees, but not to pray? Telling them that, the way they look in the moonlight is a little succubine. To embrace their inner demoness?

Yeah, the third one. Pyorin turned his back on the scene of Fennore now putting his arms around two women on the couch. Then, Pyorin's large shoulders sagged with good belly laughter. He had to go and excuse himself.

Queen Celestia was waiting for him, around the corner.

"Where have you been? Conspiring with our guest?"

Pyorin tried not to look too surprised to see Celestia. She was sharp, she never missed anything. And he should have guessed that she'd try and get him alone at the first chance.

Celestia led him further into the quiet corner, "There are those… who spy on us. Who conspire against us, Pyorin. I wouldn't want you to make a wrong move. Get caught up in something without meaning to…"

"Nothing like that. He tried to give me some spiritual advice. And… do you know, that Priest Fennore… er… Priest Hollowmare, I think he's a pervert, actually."

Celestia beamed, "I know… oh, he's lovely. It'll be fun to have him while he lasts. He manages to be a parody of all the things the aristocracy gets sick of the little people crowing at us about all the time."

"Oh, do you mean… like the things he preaches. About the Light and… and taking good care of yourself. And caring about other people."

"Well, not that. Well, something like that. The sort of man who would beat us over the heads with alms for the poor, girding our loins, the great healing power of the Light, and how we all need to repent, that sort of message. But he's a hack priest, if I've ever seen one. It's wonderfully funny."

Pyorin wanted to leave the conversation then, but of course he couldn't. Should he?

"A lot of people don't know Uther the Lightbringer, or Prince Arthas personally. I've actually met Arthas, and his father for that matter. They're all… these hippies. Unwashed, uncouth, extremists. People see these men captured in stone, look at paintings and statues, read their speeches that get revised about ten times before they're delivered to the masses… but they're not gods, they're just men. Men who take things like the Plague, far too seriously. So some poor Humans out in the country are dealing with an outbreak of disease, and it's bad. So what, it happens. And why can't they see that as the natural culling of the…" she had to have a breath, she was talking so much, "… well the low-born? That's just nature's way."

Celestia folded up her fan, and slid the strap of it over her wrist, so that it dangled there, with her bracelets. She put a hand on Pyorin's arm, felt up his shoulder. "Anyway, I wandered off what I truly wanted to discuss with you. The thing is, I'm not sure that Fennore's aware of how amusing he is, Sylvanas' lecturer-turned-court-jester. We'll see."

Pyorin touched Celestia's hand, caressed it. But he was looking at the floor.

"Why so glum, hmm? You know, I wanted to apologize for what I did before?"

"What could that possibly be, my queen? You never disappoint me."

She smiled, not at him, perhaps, but the way he looked. Pyorin knew that about the way they were, the way all the men had to be with Celestia, at court. When he first met her he got caught up, and nervous that she wanted more from him. But when the men joined the ladies at other times of the day, Pyorin observed that they all flirted and went through the same thing as him. Well, mostly. They were powerful lords and ministers of government. Pyorin could tell that, compared to them, he was mostly a joke.

If Fennore, who had just arrived, was going to be the court jester, then what was he?

"Well, when Fennore called out like that, 'ladies and gentleman.' I'd been nodding at him, and back to you, for Fennore to say or do anything about the only other man in the room who wasn't part of the furniture."

Heat welled up in Pyorin's chest. He was squeezing Celestia's hand. When he saw that she noticed his reaction, that it began to entice somehow, Pyorin let go of her hand.

"Ah, well… funny."

"No, not really. You poor thing… you just looked so unhappy." She pouted, played with the small, raised embroidered collar of his leather armor, "But you're here to make me happy."

Pyorin smiled, bowed to her. Low, slow, gentile. Then, he backed away to leave. But he couldn't go. The queen had to dismiss him, first.

Celestia smiled, came near again and tapped the fan against her chin. "One last thing, the double Sunthraze, the once heir… I hear he's now in the dungeon. And you were the one who arrested him. Is that true?"

Pyorin was afraid to answer. She had a great deal of information about him, all of a sudden. It almost felt like she knew everything about his real life, his life at the Garrison, with Tempest, with Britecleff. Though, spies were everywhere.

Celestia continued talking to him, whatever his reaction, "The Sunthrazes have gone out of vogue, at court. But I haven't forgotten, I never could… his father and I were close. Family friends. I hate to think of his poor son down in the dungeon. I don't… know them anymore, naturally. But I have cared, I have been paying attention. I didn't think his son had come up a delinquent? And you had arrested him? You do realize it's in the papers by now."

Pyorin looked around, possibly for an escape.

Celestia looked sorrowful, "There isn't much that I can do. He's accused of being a spy and as queen of course, I can't be seen anywhere close to that… but as it's so hard for me to believe, and I'll have someone discreetly look into his chances, on my end, of course… will you, in the meantime, do what you can as his jailor?"

"Technically, he is Advisor Sorn's prisoner, now."

"Oh that—no. Do not worry about Sorn. I'll get him out of your way." Celestia moved them further away, "Now, I don't understand how the keep is set up, but if you bring the young Lord Sunthraze… a pillow, perhaps? A warm meal…" Celestia rolled her wrist, jangling with gold bracelets, "A woman? Something? To make him more comfortable?"

"A woman…" Pyorin set his teeth on edge. An image of Celestia down in the keep and ordering him to shove Tempest into Sunthraze's jail cell where he could have her, Celestia pointing and shouting at him to hand over his girlfriend, that went through Pyorin's mind. And it was starting to make Pyorin very angry. Why was he so obsessed with that pumpkin-headed freak?

"Well, I'm joking. I think I'm joking, if women aren't allowed down there, if they don't do… what are those… conjugals, anymore? But please do something for him, Pyorin. Please. For me? I'd consider it a great favor and reward you accordingly. While we're doing part two of the lecture, will you see to it? It needs to be done before the king returns this evening, you see. He doesn't… have time for things like that. And I'll need to be totally focused on Anasterian when he returns this evening, of course."

Pyorin kissed her cheek, gently. "If only I could do more for you, my queen. I so regret that."

Celestia knew it was all a game. She slipped hands up his chest, resuming their play from before, then she squeezed back down Pyorin's shoulders. "Good. I hope you're keeping track of the score between us. I do mean it. Anything that might help you, please you… And it's so nice of you to take pity on us women when you could be doing something more interesting with your time. But you see, Pyorin, you're clever. You notice things. You are essential and I will certainly call on your skills one day. For something greater than this. You'll see. And don't worry so much, don't look so sad all the time. Whatever is going on out there, this is your real place, in the palace. A good-looking man like you, and as capable as you are, you should be a palace chief of security, a well-off ennobled husband, something like that. The royal palace is where you belong. As soon as I can fix it. You're very, very safe here with me, Pyorin, and I do like you. You must do a good job, however. Don't sulk."

Pyorin straightened up, saluted, "I am honored to serve."

"Remember, I couldn't stand for you to get stuck on the wrong side of things. You've been very useful so far, so don't get involved with the wrong kinds of people. There is an… active effort, to root out everyone conspiring against the throne."

"Surely, lots of people these days make a little extra money, selling secrets. My queen, you're the one paying me to-"

"Everyone. Do tread lightly."

Celestia gave Pyorin's arm one last affectionate squeeze, and then went off to take her seat and enjoy the rest of the event.

Pyorin chided himself for looking weak in front of the queen of Quel'thalas. And then, he appreciated that Celestia didn't ever insist on real reciprocation. Courtly games, that's all they were. And he should have known better, he should not have let what was going on with Tempest and with that… Sunthraze put him in a bad mood and spoil his chances with the more important people, in the palace, in this very room.

Pyorin also respected Celestia very much for not pressuring things so far between them. She was realistic. She knew he was there to have fun, to mingle, make his own connections and climb the ladder. And that was nice of her, in the end, to just let him in after only one nice conversation, at a ball. Really, Pyorin found Celestia intelligent and very capable to just wield people, including the king, as well as she did. He didn't mind getting used… well, she wasn't really using him, and if she was, it was only a little bit. And he was using her, and everyone else in the room back. That's how it worked. Not just in the palace, but in Silvermoon City. Really, everywhere.

Celestia paused and spoke to Fennore before sitting down. He laughed at whatever joke she made, slipped arms around her waist. Pyorin felt a little jealous, he didn't know why. It's not that he wanted Celestia, or did he? Well, Fennore had just got further with her than Pyorin ever had. And, she was fun to look at.

Really fun. Pyorin liked her body. He did fantasize… But many men at court did, too. It was inevitable. Curvaceous Elves weren't easy to find, or easy to get and marry, therefore. King Anasterian was rumored to still be very proud of his catch.

Now, Anasterian, he was frightening. He was a very tough, intolerant man. Strong, yes. Admirable. Impressive. But more like a dragon, less like a person. Pyorin did not like to be in the same room as him. But Queen Celestia, ever watchful, would not let Pyorin serve at the palace on days when her husband was due to be around. As much as he was sworn to protect the House of Sunstrider, being out of Anasterian's way was still something Pyorin was grateful for.

Fennore began the second part of his lecture. "You know, there is a more important matter to discuss these days, other than symptoms of the Plague, which I was at first going to dedicate the afternoon to." Fennore leaned on the podium, raised a pointed finger, "Have any of you ever asked yourselves… 'How can I encourage my partner, my man in the evenings—when he has failed himself?' "

Fennore then waited for them to get it. Slowly, the laughter trickled in. Mainly because Celestia had begun fanning herself once more, and holding back her own laughter.

"That is, when your husband, or your lover, comes up… unsuccessful. Or, doesn't come up at all—"

Now, riotous laughter from all the women in the room. Celestia, of course, could not be seen to empathize, though she smiled enough behind the fan to let others know she would allow it.

"Sexual dysfunction is a cause of many frustrations in our modern society. And if a man, or a woman, tries to meet the day but is so disappointed from the night before, well… government doesn't matter, Prince Arthas doesn't matter—the Plague doesn't matter! So, let's fix what's going on in our bedrooms!" Fennore looked far too pleased to be on this topic, "And let's take an example from demon physiology and mating rituals. Now, if you were one in a harem of demonesses, your friendly neighborhood dreadlord, when he is ready to breed, he sort of stands…well, like this. With his hips in the receptive position." And Fennore stood beside the podium, beginning to act it out, "And it's interesting, when he's aroused, he actually…"

Pyorin remembered that Celestia had given him permission to go, "The double Sunthraze…right." And chose that moment to leave the room.

As Pyorin walked down the grand hallways of the Sunspire, thinking of Sunthraze who was so far beneath his feet, he wondered what he should do. What did he even want to do for that punk?

Funny, that Celestia thought Sunthraze needed a pillow to make him feel better about being a royal prisoner, "So, it's either a pillow or… whatever Fennore said."

Pyorin became solemn. Well, he could tell himself he was mainly concerned about being able to use his powers, as a paladin, so that was why he was going to care. Or that it was about unclogging his chakram… which, Pyorin wasn't really convinced was an actual theory or principle. It sounded more like another weird sex thing, coming from Fennore. Wait, was he…? Anyway…

There was probably still a way out of it, though. To avoid it facing it. Avoid it like everything else. Why not just send Sunthraze a paltry pillow, with his compliments? Make that fool's suffering only a little more comfortable… But the idea of avoiding something, ignoring the problem, yet again was starting to make Pyorin feel sick.

So maybe there really was a… clog. Somewhere.

And then, Pyorin was seeing himself. With a shield and sword raised. Mad as ever, and charging down that grand hallway. An army of chanting Amani Trolls, scheming Celestias, brawling Sunthrazes, gyrating Tempests, Britecleff scowling and tossing that leather ball from one hand to another, and a lot of other people who were pissing him off, all crowded there, daring him.

Pyorin set his teeth on edge. He made a fist, kept squeezing it… yeah, not being able to throw himself into the battle was making him furious, wasn't it? But, for months, more than a year, he hadn't known. Pyorin hadn't even asked himself if he was alright. He didn't dare presume he could do anything about all the pressure. He assumed he wasn't good enough, that so many people were better than him, knew better. But that didn't matter. He was a fighter at heart, he always was. Pyorin knew that he relished the challenge, he was hungry for it. In fact, he wanted to kick some faces in, but that wasn't a bad thing. It was just about where to strike, when and how. And believing that he could.

Seeing this, for the first time, it was like seeing the sun come from behind a cloud, at last. It made Pyorin feel so powerful. Yes, there was a way…

"It must be about that time, to find out what kind of a man I really am."

Whoever this Fennore was… he was good.


	5. I swear it isn't yaoi

**Note:** Finished this next one, fast! So, the first part is new. But when we get down to the letter itself, you'll remember it, oh-so-well. The rest will appear in the next update.

* * *

 **Chapter Five: I swear it isn't yaoi**

Sunthraze would never, ever admit to it if you asked him, but he was busy circling articles about Prince Kael'thas in the newspaper on the afternoon that Queen Celestia summoned him.

Sunthraze was a determined soul and prided himself on his sense of humor, his charm, his wit… and after a few days in the keep beneath the Sunpsire, his time imprisoned at the Garrison felt almost like practice. Yes, Sorn had questioned him a few times, but with no real results when Sunthraze was, in fact innocent. But other than that, the answer to being locked up was not to sit around, panicking about it. Instead, one befriended the guards, found cell mates to form alliances with, keep one's mind busy with planning a defense when the trial came up, things like that. At least, that's what Sunthraze had convinced himself of, that there was still something he could do. So, a pencil and a newspaper—and an explanation of what an 'undie' was, turned out not to be such a tall order. At that, several men in adjoining cells had folded up newspapers and pencils, or nubs of chalk, or small pebbles able to make a mark. All of them settled in like he was, doing the same thing. Everyone was quiet, and so eerily polite about sharing newspapers and writing implements, that the prison guards were starting to get uncomfortable.

"Woohoo! Look, Prince Arthas is my undie today! Haha… we're both in it together."

Sunthraze heard Lancefir shout that. A skinny blonde Highborne who was going gray at the temples.

Sunthraze lay his head back against the bars and said, "You're soiled undies, then." Honestly, most of them only started doing it because, at first, it sounded like finding your 'undie' might have been a dirty game of some kind.

The man on the other side was Lance's literal partner-in-crime, who only liked to be called Mars. Both of them had robbed the largest bank in Silvermoon and killed city guards before being rounded up by the Farstriders at the edge of Eversong Woods, near the Plaguelands. A few more miles, and they would have made it. But Ranger-General Sylvanas was involved in their arrest, and she was a very, exceptionally good shot. Sylvanas shot out the back window of the carriage and her arrow went through the skull of the lead Hawkstrider to finally stop them.

"Who's undies are you wearing today, Mars?" Sunthraze asked. If it kept them quiet, then it also stopped them from picking on him.

Mars put down his paper, stood, then started drumming two pencils on the bars he shared with Sunthraze. He got lost in doing that, shut his eyes and pretended he was really performing something.

"Mars…"

Mars stopped. "Eh. Mine is still Thrall, which doesn't seem fair. I mean, back when he was a ferocious gladiator, maybe. But now he's a wanted criminal by the Alliance, and how does that even help me? And even if Thrall does get… kidnapped back across the ocean and captured, they're taking him to Stormwind."

Sunthraze focused on some detail of Kael'thas' graduation speech as magnum cum laude, made notes in the margin of his newspaper.

Lancefir sat up on his bench, "You dope. Darnassus is closer to that side of the world. Thrall will be sent there, if he's ever caught."

"What do you know?"

"I know what a warchief is. That's what Thrall's gonna do next, it's the best way to make him… absconding with all those other Orcs sound legitimate. They're going to form an army, and a base… but they'll call it a city instead. That way, when Lord Proudmoore finally catches up, it'll be us attacking him and his homeland. Oh, poor Orcs, only trying to settle down and live free… see what I mean? And I bet Thrall knows there are Humans, still fans of his, who are going to sympathize. At the least, it'll slow down the political machine, sending more armies over to Kalimdor."

"Orcs don't think like that, it's too smart."

"Thrall will do it." Lancefir poked his temple with the nub of chalk he had. "Strategy. Even an idiot can try and use strategy, even if he only has to outthink other idiots, which, bless him, Lord Proudmoore is… You'll see. They'll get all defensive, those Orcs. Next thing you know, after they get enough allies, they'll call themselves the Orcish Alliance, something like that."

"That's crazy! No, they'll be the Demonic Horde again. That's what they want to be called, those devils."

"Oh, what do you know! You can't form a plan to find your way out of a paper bag, Mars, and I know that because that's why we're in here in the first place—you and your sorry ass-backwards plans, always getting us into trouble."

"I can't think!" Sunthraze shouted. Sunthraze was trying to understand exactly what Prince Kael'thas had majored in, since the article about his graduation listed so many subjects. What would Tempest do? She'd connect up something Kael'thas had studied with something Sunthraze might need… maybe during his trial? What if he ever wrote to Kael'thas, pretended to be interested in that subject… well, it was a dumb idea. Sunthraze couldn't figure out how he and Kael'thas being undies was going to get them at the same place at the same time… well, it was just a way to keep his mind busy, anyway…

When Sunthraze looked up, two guards were staring at him, through the bars. Then, the head prison warden, in red plate armor and cape came and gave orders to get him out. They were in a rush, anxious, and no one seemed happy about it. So, it was something worse than another interrogation session with Advisor Sorn. Something they didn't even take pleasure in.

"Woah. This isn't what it looks like. I'm not… I'm not obsessed with the prince, or anything. I wouldn't do anything to Kael'thas!"

Lancefir said, "He just wants Kael'thas' undies."

"Yeah, reaaaaal bad." Mars wasn't helping either.

"…I'm going to murder both of you."

"The queen wants to see you, Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze."

"Kael'thas' mother—? I didn't… I didn't do anything!"

"What you will do is behave. You'll not do a thing out of place, or we can execute you for a whole list of crimes against the monarchy, on the spot. Got it?"

Sunthraze dragged his feet, he kicked, he resisted.

The Sunspire guards simply raised him up off his feet. They had magically-enhanced muscles anyway, and much better training when it came to avoiding situations where a prisoner might claim they were attacked by guards or abused.

The Farstriders, you see, had warned the Sunspire about the double Sunthraze.

 **P** yorin heard the guards coming and wondered if he should stand or not. There was a large tome on the table in front of him, as well as a meal, lit candles, and… a pillow or two, in the other chair. The room was a nice meeting room that the royals themselves used. Pyorin hoped everything was acceptable.

The door opened. Pyorin flinched, and couldn't say anything to Sunthraze for a while. Freeze. It was the last thing he had wanted to do.

Sunthraze was as Pyorin remembered him, and somehow more. Somehow, the adversity had made Sunthraze look more dangerous, like a wild animal. Sunthraze's hair was down, and he'd ripped the sleeves off his gray prison shirt. Pyorin felt himself sinking, felt the jealousy wash over him again. How did this annoying punk look better than him, even now? It was easy to see the start of his Trollish tattoos where his shirt opened. Tempest would have been all over him. Pyorin hated being absolutely certain about that.

Pyorin thought of Fennore, about how he said he needed to face this, not shrink back from it. Then, the vision of Fennore squatting down in front of him staring up at his crotch somewhat came to mind and Pyorin made a face.

"I thought… Is the queen coming?" Sunthraze said.

"I work for the queen. I've learned that if I say she wants it, it happens a lot faster."

"No, you work for Britecleff. What's going on?"

When Pyorin stopped being so intimidated—and he let himself accept that's what it really was—he was able to really look Sunthraze in the face. Try to care about what was going on with him, connect with him and really see what he was feeling. Sunthraze was scared. Pyorin then realized the other man's appearance was all a tactic of some kind… a way to fit in and not look like fresh meat down in the keep.

Pyorin nodded to himself, "So, that's what happens when you stop trying to be angry all the time."

"What happens? What are you talking about?"

Pyorin turned his focus to the large book in front of him. He patted the cover.

Sunthraze looked over at the food, "…I didn't expect to see you again. Now, I'm a little worried about why you suddenly wanted to see me again. Heh."

"What are you laughing about?"

"All that jealousy… is this… what you really wanted to do with me? All that time Tempest was acting interested? Were you… you were the one into me, weren't you?"

Pyorin raised his eyebrows.

"Hey, I know it takes all kinds. It's just funny. It's hilarious, actually. Now I'm locked up, I'm all the way across the city… no one is going to see what you do with me. Or my body. Wow. That's all kinds of crazy, Pyorin."

"I…" Pyorin got his confidence back in a deluge of defensive emotions, "I brought you food because you must be hungry, I'm not, and could never, EVER be attracted to you! And this book is for you, too. Here, read it."

Pyorin shoved the book Sunthraze's way. His manacles were unlocked already, so that he could use his hands.

"…Small joke, Ranger Pyro. Don't blow up at me, take it easy. I guess because this whole setup is scaring the hell out of me. Your worst enemies don't usually rock up, get you out of jail for the night and offer you dinner." Sunthraze opened the book.

"Wait. Unless you want to eat first? Maybe you should eat, first."

"Why are you acting like my mother all of a sudden?"

"Eat." Pyorin took the book back, urged Sunthraze to get on with it.

Sunthraze didn't have any utensils, they wouldn't dare give him any. He ate a chunk of venison with his hands.

Pyorin opened the book himself, he began to flip a few pages. He wasn't really reading it. He was just finding it hard to face the other man, "The thing is… I owe you an apology."

Pyorin then waited for Sunthraze to make another joke. Sunthraze didn't.

Pyorin went on, "I'm not… so terrible a person that I can't see what I've done to you. When we were… when we were out in that field, you punching Britecleff. That broke a few rules. So, yeah, that might have meant a trip to the Garrison. But it didn't have to go like that, not really. And none of the others chased after you when you ran. You know, back when we were at Britecleff's office? Technically—and Britecleff had already told us this—you hadn't committed a crime. Britecleff said that, after you went into his office, the way you came out, that was going to be up to you. So it was a hands-off situation for us. But I chased after you. I treated you like a criminal and I called you a spy when, as you ably noted, just now… I don't actually take my orders from Queen Celestia, nor Advisor Sorn. I take them from Britecleff. I arrested you, twice, for… pretty flimsy reasons. For that, I… I am so sorry about all of this, Sunthraze."

Sunthraze licked his fingers, went onto another piece of seasoned meat.

"Well, I don't blame you for however it is that you feel now. An apology doesn't make any of this better. But, I think that there is a way, no—I know there is a way that I can get you out of this. And I want you to know, I am really, really going to take a huge risk here and stick my neck out, however it must sound to you. Yes, it's… dicey, but you'll also have the ability to… well, cut my off my neck, if you want. And maybe I do want you to break me off, I'm really tired of living like this anyway…"

Sunthraze stopped to say, "Wrong choice of words."

"Huh?"

"Don't ask another man to break you off, unless you mean it—"

"Will you stop, you smart mouth! Geez! Where do you even get all this stuff from? You're worse than that pervy priest I met earlier today. He's the one who convinced me to make this nice dinner for you in the first place!"

"That one's just too easy," Sunthraze smiled, went back to eating.

"Anyway… I survive this way, at present… But, before we get to that. Did you know… that Queen Celestia knows your father?"

"Knew him. My father died when I was pretty young."

"Then why, may I ask, did you get cozy sitting down in the keep when the queen is right upstairs, and a personal friend?"

"It's not like that. She… I don't know her, I've never even seen her. I guess, my father and her used to go around… like… to the Sunwell, and take carriage rides and stuff like that. They were just family friends. My dad sold champion Hawkstriders, so knew a lot of other aristocrats."

"Oh, it's so much more than that. King Anasterian bought a Hawkstrider from your father once, didn't he?"

"For someone who isn't interested in me romantically, you sure did pull a stalker thing and read up about my whole life before this candlelit supper. And then you put all this… hot meat on my plate."

Pyorin made a fist on the table, "The day King Anasterian went to the Sunthraze estate and bought that Hawkstrider… well, Anasterian and your father had arranged it years before the animal was grown, but the thing is—on that day. When Kael'thas was just old enough to ride and Anasterian finally came to pick up the young Hawkstrider… that was when Anasterian met Celestia. Celestia is the queen now, because of your father. Roann Sunthraze introduced the two of them. King Anasterian was a man who… swore he would never marry again, and everyone believed him. Anasterian was more focused on building a practical shrine in the Silvermoon library to his late wife, Anthene'alas, commissioning books and more and more paintings be made of her… But Lord Roann Sunthraze was the one who got Anasterian to open up, to spend time with Celestia. And not just that first time, there were other times when Roann nudged Anasterian and Celestia, from both sides. And neither of them, king nor queen, has ever forgotten that favor."

Sunthraze didn't look very interested.

"Not to mention Kael'thas' royal butt sits on that animal from time to time, that started out on your family's land."

"From time to time." Sunthraze shrugged. He finished what was on his plate, and noticed another course within reach. He pulled a piece of strawberry cake closeby.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"I know all of these things already. So far, all you're doing is fangirling over me… how does this help me get out of prison? If Queen Celestia cared so much, wouldn't she have done something by now?"

"She can't. She says she'll have someone look into it, but I know full well that's queen talk for 'yeah, good luck with that.'"

Sunthraze drank a tall glass of water, gulping several times, then wiped his hands clean on a napkin.

"Sunthraze, what you have now, your connections… a lot of people living in Silvermoon City now, would give a limb for. I've worked… for so long." Pyorin shook his head, "I can't believe you're closer to the royal family than I could ever dream, and I'm just some… well… you're about to find out. Are you ready?"

"Hey, is Tempest doing alright?"

Pyorin struck an opened page of the book, with his palm. Then, he surprised himself, "She's feeling guilty about this too. But she doesn't know I'm here. Other than that… she's fine. By the way, Britecleff doesn't know I'm here, either. He's also pretty upset about all of this."

Pyorin flipped to the page he wanted. Then, he surprised Sunthraze by passing his hand over the page. The letters glimmered with purple arcane magic, rose off the page. Then, a white lid appeared. Pyorin opened it.

"I… took this so-called book from Celestia's bedroom. These are copies of all the letters Kael'thas has been sending to the castle, since I came on." Then, Pyorin gave Sunthraze a look, waited.

"I'm in jail, because of what you've been doing all this time. I'm serving your prison sentence."

"And you can't prove it, either. But, if you're smart, you'll read up." Pyorin handed Sunthraze the first few letters. "You'll study Kael'thas, everything about him, and then you'll join me. Because if you can convince Advisor Sorn that you are already an agent of Celestia's, as guilty as he presumes, then Sorn will be afraid to really do anything nasty to you. In fact, I'm sure he will let you go. You see, Sorn is looking for a rogue Farstrider to fry, or some vulnerable peasant with no connections who is working for the Farstriders. He's not looking for someone, of noble birth, who is in very, very good with the Queen herself. Sorn can't touch that."

Sunthraze sat there. He looked lost, even hurt.

"But I'm innocent."

"Not anymore, you're not. From here on out, you work for me. And, ultimately, for Celestia."

Sunthraze looked up at Pyorin, disgusted, "And what is the queen doing with these letters? Why can't she just ask Anasterian what goes on in his son's life?"

"I don't know. I don't ask about that. But they're family anyway, so what does it matter? They have some feud going on… maybe King Anasterian does what I hear a lot of the ladies at court complain about, regarding their husbands—he probably just doesn't like to share his work with his wife. Which is an awkward situation for a woman to be in. Especially at that level of the aristocracy… those women are responsible for so much. I had no idea."

"To go to these lengths, Pyorin, something sinister is obviously going on. What if she wants to hurt Kael'thas?"

"Obviously, I thought all this through already. Do you think I would get involved in something like this if it were really ugly? Celestia doesn't have an heir herself, I don't even think she can have children, and then she's no Sunstrider. I mean… if you go back far enough, every aristocratic family claims they're related to the first, Dath'remar himself. But if everyone can make that same claim, then her hands are tied. Right?"

"I don't want to do this."

"It's either that, or be executed as a spy and traitor."

"When they have no evidence?"

"They'll find some. I know how Sorn is. How they all are. Becoming a bigger fish than Sorn, that's the only way out of this for you, Sunthraze. What I'm offering you is a mercy. And I'll prepare Celestia for the news by telling her I worked through you all this time, because you're out in the middle of nowhere, practically. But Farstriders are always patrolling out where you live, so we might have met that way. I mean, how did I really have the time to copy out all those letters, along with my other duties? I couldn't possibly. So I recruited some extra help, from you, out of her bribe money. She won't be mad, she'll be pleased. She obviously likes you. Or, the idea of you."

"No offense, but I really don't think you're clever enough for this, Pyorin. There are a lot of holes in this that you aren't seeing."

"Alright, I'll choose not to be offended, this time. So, go on. Name one. I've already gone through everything."

"If many of the aristocrats in Quel'thalas have royal blood, then that means there are more claims to the throne, not watered-down, duplicate claims. Everyone has the same chance; they're just looking for an edge and an opportunity to take it. A time and a tool."

Sunthraze let that sink in.

"Pyorin, have you considered that's actually what Celestia is doing? Biding her time to take the throne away from a husband she's rumored to hate? And not because she loves him so much she needs to pretty much stalk him and his son, when she's already married to Anasterian?"

Pyorin stared at the book in front of him. Then, slowly, he put an elbow on the table. He put his head in his hands and swore to himself.

Sunthraze winced at how he was taking it, "It's just a theory."

"But it's a good theory. And, you're right. Everyone's right. I'm such a meathead—an idiot! And she knew that's what I was, because she's been using me this whole time!"

Sunthraze brought his chair closer. "Listen, calm down. You're not stupid. Do you know how sparkling you have to be for the uppercrust to even try you on? I think… for a guy like you, a normal guy, to work his way up among Britecleff's top recuits, and… be entrusted with that paladin thing, and into Celestia's court, to be liked and trusted by her too, and she does, obviously, trust you—"

"She trusts me to do what she orders me to do. What I can't help doing for her."

"There are people who haven't lasted as long as you have, I'm sure. But you're still standing, Pyorin. And it isn't over yet. Far from it."

Pyorin pushed away from the table. His voice broke, "I can't… see a way out of this. What have I done?"

"Relax. Focus."

 _Unclog._

Pyorin wondered if Fennore's voice was in his head now, to hearken back that. It almost made him laugh. Pyorin took calming breaths.

Sunthraze took his arm, squeezed it, "I am going to help you. Okay?"

"How?"

"In a way that gets me out of this mess, because then you'll owe me."

"You can't have Tempest."

Sunthraze stopped, smiled and shook his head with surprise, "Well, you already have helped me with Tempest if you're that insecure about me taking her off of you. Thanks for the tip. Anyway, let's both… ah, stop thinking about her, particularly, right now. Alright?"

Sunthraze patted Pyorin on the shoulder, then leaned his own elbow on the table, thinking.

"Pyorin, when you copy out these letters… I mean, have you ever got anything wrong, or different? How would Celestia know?"

"Well, I guess it never occurred to me. But it would have to match whatever the newspapers say, right? I mean, she knew I arrested you because she's ontop of the newspapers. That's why she sent me down here. Though, Celestia just wanted me to give you a pillow and a warm meal. I won't tell you what else."

Good. Pyorin had protected himself from another joke about losing his girlfriend to that fool. A joke about handing over a woman for conjugal visits would have been too obvious. Though, now Pyorin was imagining himself getting it on with Tempest in a jail cell for some reason. He sighed, that woman was far too distracting.

"…I see." Sunthraze drummed fingers on the table, "And how often does she get a copy of Kael'thas' letters?"

"I bring the mail from the Garrison—it goes through there first, to be reviewed by a mage for any harmful enchantments, poison, that kind of thing—then after it gets, uh, screened, a Farstrider delivers it. I do that twice a week. Tempest does it only on Thursdays."

Sunthraze itched his cheek. A kind of faint goatee was growing in.

"Yeah, it sucks when you can't shave, doesn't it?"

Sunthraze looked up at Pyorin, chin in palm. "Oh. You're not making fun of me."

"I'd give you a razor but… then we'd both be in the keep."

Sunthraze smiled, then went on, "You can't just stop the letters because Celestia will be suspicious, and you'll surely face consequences. But maybe we can just… remove anything that she might use against Kael'thas? How does that sound? Maybe that's too hard to guess, though. I mean, if Celestia is this clever, she'll latch on to absolutely anything."

"Not to be mean, but I better warn you… Kael'thas doesn't have a perfect life. He's a huge nerd with serious girl problems."

"He is _not._ "

"You said your family didn't know him. You said you didn't care."

"Well, he _is_ my undie. I'm bound to be a little defensive." Sunthraze smirked.

"You know, that undu'diel stuff is totally real, Sunthraze! I mean, I knew it before, but aren't you convinced by now? Think about it, we're helping him right this moment. It won't be long before Kael'thas is helping you."

"Think he'll bust into the Keep in a blaze of glory and melt the prison bars for me?"

Pyorin laughed at the thought. "I… I'm not so confident I can figure it all out on my own. Which things to take out of the letters."

"You're smarter than you think, Pyorin. You're good with strategy. I did not expect to see you again, for one, and second, you tried to blackmail me into doing half your workload or something like it… I was impressed."

"Were you? Seriously?"

"You frightened me. I was like, 'Holy Hawkstriders did I underestimate this guy!' And, honestly… I won't be doing that again."

"Doing what again?"

"Underestimating you, Pyorin. I mean it, thank you. For trying to help in the only way you could. I can see that now. Gods, working for Celestia behind Britecleff's back, and Tempest's, must have been killing you. And then you shared it with a stranger, me, just so you could help. You're a… unique kind of fellow. There's a real gentleman down in there, somewhere."

"Well… I could only really share it with a stranger. The confession was a little selfish."

"And who changed your mind so completely? Something about a perverted priest?"

"His name is Priest Fennore Hollowmare, and though he's… strangely wise, he also gets on your nerves very, very easily. I have a feeling we'll all be shouting that name for a while to come."

Sunthraze reached for one of the letters and began reading it. "The thing is, you're not dumb, not at all."

"But my mind wanders, like… all the time. I am always thinking about stuff that doesn't matter and would never happen."

"Maybe you're just creative."

Like that. Just like that, Sunthraze removed that criticism from Pyorin's psyche forever.

Pyorin sat back in his chair, feeling more than a bit proud of himself.

"Creative people are very good with strategies."

"Are they?"

"Oh, I wish I was so creative. I just get mad. My problem is I have a temper. I kind of need someone to work out the way we're going to handle something, and then point me at the problem so I can attack it. I'm just too impatient sometimes. Anyway, other than that, Pyorin, you're like anyone… but you're not a member of the aristocracy. You don't know how inheritance works, how they think, what kind of stuff they'd need to unseat someone else from power. You almost have to be raised in it to know that. It's the one skill I do have, other than rounding up stray Hawkstriders."

"I guess that makes sense."

"I so wish we could trade places right now, Pyorin. The queen in your pocket, a hot… whatever Tempest is to you, cause she ain't your girlfriend, from what I can tell—"

"I was really feeling like your friend until you said that."

"And I'm going to say something else that'll sound weird, but it's been driving me crazy. How in the hell, are you so fit? What the heck are you doing, eating Orcs for breakfast? I've been trying to bulk up for ages and nothing works."

Pyorin knew he shouldn't smile so much about it. "Well, you know. Everyone's different. You're, on the shorter side, but you're also lean, and strong. Kind of like a well-balanced hunting knife."

"Okay, if that's not a come-on, I don't know what is."

Pyorin leaned in, put an arm around the back of Sunthraze's chair. He looked at him, waggled his eyebrows in a goofy way and got so close to Sunthraze's face that he finally freaked out and asked him to stop.

"Yeah, we're both straight. Or, you're just all talk."

"What the hell was that?!"

"Revenge. Alright, so … let's read through these. But seriously, there's nothing wrong with you, either. Don't… get up in the morning every day and hate what you see in the mirror. Nobody should ever do that. And I do like your tattoo, actually. Where'd you get it?"

Sunthraze looked down at himself, "Thanks. Some days it feels like a dumb decision I made. And one of my friends did it, though here's a tip: he won't help you while I'm in here."

"Don't ever become a Farstrider, Sunthraze. An Amani Troll would eviscerate you immediately, rip your guts right out if he saw that message on your stomach."

"…Crap. Does it… not say what I think it says? My tattoo guy lie to me?"

"Oh… it says what it's supposed to say, alright." Pyorin tutted and shook his head, though, like Sunthraze had asked for a death sentence.

It turned out, Sunthraze had the most recent letter from Kael'thas in his hands. This one was addressed to Advisor Sorn. And a few others were from Lady Jaina Proudmoore and addressed to Advisor Sorn. Through reading Kael'thas' letters, which left out a lot of his shortcomings, and Jaina's, which obviously would omit a great deal of her own slips, Sunthraze was able to help Pyorin piece together recent events more accurately than any Silvermoon newspaper.

 _In Dalaran, three days ago…_

 **J** aina paused midway across the purple sunstreaked room. Glowing purple stained glass, potted ferns and flowers took up two whole walls. And there was blonde Kael'thas, sitting there half-dressed on the couch. He smoked and stared at her wearing only the bathtowel. It obviously made an impression on him. The woman he wanted, naked, and wearing a red towel with a royal yellow phoenix and his own initials, K.O.S. monogrammed on.

As for Jaina, now was a poor time for her to remember that Prince Arthas and a few of the other students once stole all of Kael'thas' fancy towels, some of his clothes, and stringed them up the large flag pole in front of the Arcanium. All the teachers saw it, even Dean Sweeney. It also resulted in possibly the worst bath Kael'thas had taken in life, when Dean Sweeney came storming back to his old quarters—and no doubt the dean was glad for the chance to do it, too—let himself in and yelled at Kael'thas. Kael'thas got out of the tub to lessen his embarrassment, but then he struggled around the place with shouting Sweeney in tow, dripping wet and naked, looking for anything decent to put on. But there wasn't even a towel left.

Arthas, a Paladin of the Silver Hand, rarely got into any trouble. At least nobody believed Arthas would do such a thing. So smooth, such a great guy. Then, Jaina's heart sank and she didn't want to think of him or those old days anymore.

"Oh… didn't see you there." Jaina found a smile for Kael'thas at least.

"No, no, no, it's not your fault," and Kael'thas cleared his throat, tried to lean back on the couch looking casual, and not on a mission for the most beautiful, smartest woman on campus. You know, cool. Kael'thas raised an arm to lean it over the couch and ran fingers of the other hand back through his long, blonde hair. But then he almost burned it with the cigarette.

"Ouch!"

"Uh…"

"Jaina, I wanted to ask you—"

"Kael'thas, I've gotta say this—"

Both cleared their throats, offered for the other to go first.

"I should go." Jaina spoke over him. "Go first, and explain, I mean. Before I… leave."

"Oh no, stay. There's no reason to go, not yet." Kael'thas had another sly puff of cigarette, smoothed a hand down his thigh, pinched the black silk dressing robe. "We really only just got started."

Jaina tried to speak again. But then Jaina became distracted instead. "Wow. And to believe… I've been teasing you these last four years."

"Three and a half."

"You counted?"

"Well, technically, we didn't have our first class together and actually speak until second semester, freshman year. But I did see you around, before that. I saw you around, a lot. And then you were taking Astral Conjuring so I took Astral Conjuring… I mean, uh… well, it was part of my preliminary study, to lay the groundwork for my um… eventual major."

"Kael'thas, you didn't major in anything."

"I did." Kael'thas got very animated all of a sudden, stood and gestured with the cigarette in-hand. "I did major in something, Jaina. I majored in everything, actually—"

"Right, but you didn't pick anything."

"Of course. Because I'm good at everything! Geez… why is that so hard for Humans to understand? And a Bloodmage, patent pending… that specialization covers all the schools of magic, including warlock spells… it's all on my diploma, Jaina." He sucked his teeth, shook his head, and put out the cigarette in a red glass ash tray. "You act like they didn't let me graduate or something."

"Kael'thas, your diploma and all the stuff you made them put on there was so long, the scroll they gave you weighed your arm down when you took it on stage."

"That wasn't… heavy. Not really."

"I was there, it was graduation. Everyone was there and saw you almost fall to the floor with your giant, crazy Bloodmage diploma."

"Whatever. Dean Sweeney practically threw that diploma at me. That man is out to get me…"

"It weighed about a hundred pounds, he had to!"

"Jaina, I don't wanna talk about this. But I do want to talk about… us."

"Yes, us. A more sane topic of conversation than your Bloodmage major in 'all the magics.' Let's talk about…" then, Jaina lost her courage.

Kael'thas came closer. He squeezed the ringbox in his robe pocket one last time before going for it. "In the end… Arthas wasn't there, was he?"

"They'll just mail him his diploma, I'm sure. He's the Prince of Lordaeron, they'll have to manage it. And his isn't so huge it can't fit in an envelope." Jaina crossed her arms.

Kael'thas took another step nearer to Jaina. Touched her. Her hair, then smoothed down her naked arm, when he sensed she didn't mind. Felt her hip, so warm. His hand over the towel. So close, yet so far away from what he wanted. Kael'thas met her eye, trying to find that heat between them again. Jaina's violet eyes brightened with expectation. Excitement made her blush. Yes, it was still what they both wanted.

She touched Kael'thas back, caressed his shoulder. "Well yours, it goes in a… pretty big package."

Kael'thas couldn't help it, he laughed with her.

"I am being serious, though. You… you're such an amazing lover. I admit, I was surprised last night. I really had no idea." She felt his chest next, tossed her silver hair back. "You felt so good, Kael."

Kael'thas kissed Jaina. He pulled their hips together and put his tongue in her mouth. Jaina went up on her toes, grasped the blonde hair at the back of his neck, moaned. Kael'thas pushed them up against the wall. Jaina bumped her head, but that didn't stop them. They laughed again and kissed more hungrily this time. She raised a leg above his hip.

"Kael…"

Kael'thas tried to yanked her towel down, spread open his robe.

"…Stop."

Kael'thas smoothed a hand up the wall, beside Jaina's head. He mouthed, "You don't want me to stop."

Jaina shut her eyes, trying very hard not to go on. She smoothed the gold hair back on his head. She felt the long tips of his elven ears.

"After four years, why are you suddenly so… you know?" she whispered back.

"I'm a Sunstrider. Hot and awesome runs in the family. You know, all those Elves didn't follow Darth'remar across the ocean for nothing."

She laughed through her nose. "That is such a line."

"You shouldn't have taken so long to see it. But I can understand. I don't blame you."

Jaina furrowed her brow, looked down at him, "No, you don't understand. You're not supposed to be so… wonderful to me, so handsome and… and so cute? You're supposed to be Nerdboy."

"Hey, if that gets you off. I'll snort laughter and put on some glasses while we do it this time—"

"Kael'thas!" Jaina shrieked giggles, pulled up her towel, then calmed herself, "I mean it. No more. You know I'm engaged to Arthas. We weren't supposed to do this." She looked down.

"No, no… don't do that, don't be ashamed. I'm making you laugh. I've been making you smile… for the first time since that jerk disappeared from school."

"But sweetheart, I said it was a mistake when we woke up. Before I took my bath," Jaina frowned. "We just shouldn't be together like this."

"You're stressing yourself out. Who cares if you… are engaged to him, but you're actually far more attracted to me. What's a promise? Those are just words. A lotta ladies like to take a walk on the Elf side…"

Jaina sighed and rolled her eyes at him.

Kael'thas squeezed her tight, "Once you go Elf, you can't put it back on the shelf—"

"Oh my gods! Shut up!" she pushed him off, then sank to her knees with laughter.

"I was saving that one," Kael'thas tied up his robe and had a seat on the floor too, while she fixed her towel. "By the way, you're lovely. I loved… making love with you, Jaina. I am so honestly relieved that we finally did."

"Elf on the shelf…" Jaina shook her head, she was still stuck on that. A few more giggles slipped out.

"…Jaina?"

"Yes, Kael'thas?"

"Did you hear me, just now?"

"Hrm?"

"I said… I just said that I love you." And then Kael'thas got out the green ring box.

"Oh no…" Jaina grasped at her neck, shook her head, "Oh, Kael'thas, sweatheart, don't—"

"I love you, so much. I have wanted to make love to you, since the moment I saw you…"

"You set my hair on fire, the first time you saw me."

Kael'thas pinched fingers together, "Small accident. But this is big, and it is no accident." He flipped open the box and showed her the large red diamond set in gold,"You know, kinda like something else that turned out to be pretty big and wasn't an accident last night."

Jaina ignored Kael'thas' dirty joke this time. "Oh gods… Kael'thas… I've never even… seen one! A red diamond? This sparkles like the ring Arthas gave me, but it is so much bigger," she gasped, "and prettier! This isn't a ruby?"

"No, my lady. It is, indeed, a red diamond. Actually…" he took it from the box, urged Jaina to put it on, to take it. "It was my mother's. I had my father send it."

"The ring of Queen Anthene'alas Sunstrider… The **[Heartblood of Anthene]** — oh, this is a legendary item, I couldn't possibly take it! I haven't earned it. And, besides, I always thought this was soul-bound?"

"Look, we've both been training at the Arcanium for too long. You don't have to down some… rare spawn epic boss to have a legendary ring. Sometimes, you get epic jewelry because a man loves you. Because he has been doing everything that he can think of, for the last four years, to entice you, to show you… how much he does. Lady Jaina Proudmoore… I just…" Kael'thas searched for better words. "I need you to marry me, very, very badly."

"But, honey, I'm already…"

"Look. I don't know how to say this. Okay, I know exactly how to say this. Arthas is a loser."

"Kael'thas, this is serious."

"I am being serious. Arthas is, in fact, a loser. I have a thereom, and I have proof. Do you want me to go get my spreadsheet of proof?" his voice flew up at the end.

"He'd beat you up, again, Nerdboy, if he heard you saying that to me."

"Then why wasn't he at our graduation? Why didn't he at least write you, to tell you what he was doing instead? That man isn't a rolling stone, he's a rocksliding catastrophe. Are you so sure your wedding is even still on? Come on, darlin'…"

"Stop mocking him." Jaina hunched her shoulders. She couldn't put the beautiful red ring down, though. The very **[Heartblood of Anthene]**. All that power and beauty in her hands. She kept looking at it.

Kael'thas smoothed his hand down Jaina's hip again. He smiled that it was becoming his favorite place to touch her. Couples always had little things like that.

"Arthas is going through something right now. He asked me not to tell anyone. Kael'thas, he confided in me."

"Two princes want to marry you. One is hotter than sin itself, you found that out last night, and the other one is stupider than sin itself to-"

"Don't pressure me and make me tell you which one you are." Jaina slipped the tip of her finger through the ring. It looked so good… so delicious, she almost felt she wanted to eat it. She was beginning to crave it in a way that no mortal should ever crave jewelry. So wonderfully… strange.

"Fine. You want time to think about it, go right ahead. In fact, wear the ring. You are the woman I truly love, and it's yours by right."

"But your mother's ring? And you barely knew her. Kael'thas, this is very sweet, but it's probably one of only a few things you still have from your mother. I can't take this."

Kael'thas took her hand, moved the ring to the correct finger, and slipped it on. It was so large, it dwarfed the simple band set with precious stones that Arthas had already given Jaina.

Jaina stood up when he did that, raised her eyebrows. "What the—this thing just shocked me."

"No it didn't."

"Kael'thas! What nerdy, crazy, scheming thing did you do now?"

The ring would not come off.


	6. Once you go elf

**Note** : This one isn't new, but it's still hilarious...

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Once You Go Elf**

Jaina paced in Kael'thas' room. Purple windows cast bright, eerie glow against every bare footstep.

"Why won't the ring come back off?" She tried, desperately, to yank it, but she risked hurting her finger. Jaina whimpered pitifully, "Kael'thas… what the hell did you do? This isn't your mother's ring at all, is it? This is some kind of crazy spell-locked ring. You—you hottest Elf on the shelf! Did you think I wouldn't notice! Wait, what did I just say?"

"No, I knew that you'd notice. I just had to get it on your finger before that happened. And the ring keeps you from insulting me. So… I'm the 'hottest Elf on the shelf,' am I?"

"You ass…astronomically sexy, sexy man." Jaina covered her mouth.

"And, yes, it is my mother's ring. I would not dare give you anything less. I just, let's say… enchanted it."

"To force me to be your girlfriend again? I thought we already did that, with that looney curse of tongues you put on me last semester. Arthas almost killed you over that."

"Stuffing into a locker… does not equal kill. And, as you can see, I'm still standing." He got up and stood with her.

Jaina winced and turned little circles, desperate to try and get the ring off. Then, she held out her hand, used the other to try and cast blue magic at it. No effect.

"I'm no fool. I know that I just got lucky last night, Jaina. I knew that it would happen eventually, one of these times Arthas disappeared on you. And, I always knew that I was a good enough lover, more than good enough to tempt you over to my side."

"How did that happen, anyway? Come to think of it, I don't remember you ever going out with anyone. And aren't introverted nerdboys supposed to be notorious virgins? What did you do, practice on your succubus for four years?"

Kae'lthas spoke over her, "You think this is the end, Lady Jaina Proudmoore. You wanted to tell me that we had to end this, but our night together is just the beginning. For the next three months, because I am a gentleman, and I would never force you… That ring is going to stop you from saying or thinking anything negative about me. All this 'Nerdboy' stuff Arthas got you into with me…" Kael'thas folded hands behind his back, shook his head, "That's just not on. I won't have it anymore, Jaina. From now on, I am Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider of—"

"You are Prince Jackass—Love-strider of my heart." Jaina's faced turned read. "Oh! You… you creep! Creepily cute, cutey! Ugh! I don't like that. Why would you make me talk like that?"

"I think that a woman who loves me should speak to me like that. She should adore me, forever. I would be the sun in her sky. Her very sunshine…" He gestured elegantly.

Jaina made a face at him, then she got quiet. She pulled on the ring some more, thinking. "Don't you even get it? This is weird, this is getting weirder by the moment. It's kind of making me talk like your mother, and this is your mother's ring!"

"Wait. That's not…"

"It _is_ possible! It's happening right now! Listen: You piece of—sugar pie! I am going to kick your—asparagus is good for you, dear! …From here to Undermine! Underwear-don't forget to change your underwear in the morning."

"Huh? It made you say all that…?" Kael'thas took her hand and touched the ring, trying to readjust it with his powers. Jaina put her hand over his as he casted spells, slowly, then grabbed him and conjured blue magic again.

 _Bzzt!_

"There! Got you!"

"Heeey…!"

Jaina yanked her hand away, smiled. But the ring was still there.

Jaina sneered at him. "…I… strongly… dislike you right now."

"Yeah, nice try though. But I'm pretty certain I would have never written a spell to make the woman I wanna shag constantly talk to me like she's my mother. I've tested that thing, many times."

"Tested it? On who? What woman would put up with you trying this out on her?"

"Jaina, you should calm down."

She gasped, "You put your mother's ring on your succubus? Ew! Were you guys roleplaying that it was me?"

Again, Kael'thas rose above that comment, "… And like I said, the ring is not coming off. It's a powerful spell lock. Three months, during which you have plenty of time to think things over, and then it's done. I'll come to you and claim it. At that time, if you hate me… or if you realize that deep down you love me… either way, we'll be, uh… getting' it on again," here, Jaina cringed, "…even if we're not getting married. But I have to say, I've already run the numbers. I'm ninety-eight percent certain that you'll fall head over heels for me."

Jaina snarled, her voice getting lower and more threatening, "How do you even know that! It's my choice whether I… kick you, or I… kick you, after three loooong months of me not being able to really, really want to kick you!" The ring came in again and corrected that to 'kiss you,' which infuriated her further.

"Lady Jaina, really. I hardly think you can resist this perfect specimen of Elfhood again." Kael'thas flicked open his robe to flash her, and then started rolling his shoulders and shimmying around her like a stripper.

Jaina winced and made a face, "So… regret this…"

"And add to that, the ring amplifies any physical feelings you have for me by about… uh, let's see… three thousand percent?"

"WHAT?!"

Kael'thas kissed her another time. Jaina gave in quickly, pushed him back all the way across the room, onto to the couch, straddled him. Then, she tossed her silver hair back, amazed. She opened her mouth in shock and swept the one clever blonde tress she wore, back behind her ear. "That… was crazy. I did not mean to jump on you just now. Also… I hate to admit it, but your strip tease wasn't so bad, Kaely-kun. You just need a bit more rhythm and a lot more sass—Why am I saying this? Dammit! It was a dorky dance, this stupid ring!"

Kael'thas could only lie there, grinning.

"You are a fool—"

"A what?"

"A full of… fascination and hotness guy." Then, she blinked out of it, " 'Full of fascination and hotness guy?' Seriously?"

"Hey, my words out of _your_ mouth… not technically mine."

"I am going to find a way to unlock this damned ring." Jaina tried pulling it off her finger again, but it still wouldn't budge. "And when I do, I am going to teach you the true meaning of pain… Painful spankings, please!"

"Oh, really? Don't mind if I do, Jaina…" Kael'thas hugged her flat against him, grinned, and swatted her on the backside with repeated glee.

"Get off of me!" Jaina got down from the couch and stomped away. "And I'm staying away from you, you freak! Until I figure this thing out." Jaina went into his bedroom to change. Then, the ring made her shout, "You big, sexy freak!"

"That's the stuff!" Kael'thas folded arms behind his head, stretched out and crossed ankles on the couch. "You know, that ring is going to keep drawing us back together, again and again. All I have to do is relax here and wait. You'll have no inhibitions anymore when it comes to me, if even a small part of you wants to kiss me, or grope me… Ahh, I really wouldn't mind a bit of groping. Girls don't do that enough to guys." Kael'thas frowned and became lost in thought.

Jaina came back, fully clothed, and marched up to him again. She had put back on her beautiful sparkling blue graduation gown from the evening before. The front dipped low and was trimmed with soft blue feathering. She wore matching fuzzy blue cuffs on her wrists also. With the jewelry, tiara and cape she now stuffed angrily in her purse, it was an impressive, slightly seductive look. Arthas would have whisked her away in it, had he been there. That had been Jaina's original plan, clearly, to snag Arthas' attention back, not snag the loony king of the Highborne dorks. Jaina angrily drew the string on her evening bag, to cinch it tight and closed. Then she swung it over to her right hand. "I've got something for you. Stand up."

Kael'thas' smile was delighted, "Yes, ma'am!"

Jaina slapped him with a strong left, hard.

Kael'thas, now on the floor, felt the side of his face. It hurt horribly.

"Yep. Looks like yo' momma's ring doesn't mind if I smack her son from time to time. Makes sense. I heard she was a practical woman. Unlike you…" Jaina had turned the ring so that the stone was on the inside of her hand, just so she could hurt him with it.

Being an Elf, you know… of course, Kael'thas had a mirror on the table nearby. He went to check how he looked. He saw the blue bruise on the side of his face.

"You see? I'm already finding the loopholes. I give this ring foolishness a day, tops. You messed with the wrong mage this time, Kael'thas." Then Jaina leaned in, "And what is wrong with you, anyway? Crafting a ring that forces a woman to love you? Are you really this desperate?"

"I didn't need the ring to have you sleep with me, last night."

"No, and I am shocked you didn't trick me into wearing this thing beforehand. For the last four years, you would have needed it. Right? I mean, we both know…" she got in his face, snarled, "We both know you didn't have a chance in the Maelstrom before Arthas upset me close to graduation. And then you were so sad last night, crying about how you wouldn't see me around campus anymore, and everyone at the bar was going over all those old times, drinking so much. More drinks and more drinks… I saw how you waited until we were the last ones at the party. I saw how hard you tried. And we were both so sad, weren't we? Then I throw a little pity sex your way and you propose marriage? As if." She turned her back and fiddled with the ring again.

Kael'thas stood there. "…Don't say that."

She turned around again. "Well, that's what it was. What did you think it was?"

"We made love. We did it because we really, truly like each other. We get along together. You laugh at my jokes. I thought we always laughed, together."

"I just didn't want to hurt your feelings last night. But I think I need to hurt them now." She raised her hand with the ring. "This is manipulative, you creepy—cutey—warlock. I swear, as long as you live, you will never get a real woman to love you, acting this way. In fact, you're hopeless… No, the ring wants me to say you're 'hopeful.' But that doesn't even make any sense. You're not the hopeful one, I'm hopeful. That you'll finally leave me alone after I get this thing off my hand."

"Jaina…"

"Don't 'oh Jaina' me. Look, this is how it's gonna go down. You. You're leaving here and you're going back to Silvermoon City with your royal tail between your legs. Next, my boyfriend—my fiancée—is coming back to Dalaran with a perfectly good explanation… and Arthas and I will get married, and my father will be there too, and I will be the Queen of Lordaeron, and we are going to have lots of babies running around Tirisfall Glade and wherever else we want to go in our kingdom, as a happy family. And you will just have to sit alone in Silvermoon with your… warlock tendencies, and deal with it."

"Jaina, please, I didn't mean—"

"I am tired of doing this with you. How many times does a man need to be rejected before he gets it? Maybe you… turned out to be really hot in the end. Okay? But today I learned that you are also slimy—sexy, there it goes again, replacing my words—arrogant—or adorable—and selfish—sumptuous… as hell! Arrgh! And, you're a weirdo—a wonderful person." Jaina sighed, checked down at herself to make sure everything was fastened along the sides of her dress, "Whatever, you know how I really feel about you, that I was insulting you. Just be a man for once, Kael'thas, and deal with your failures. Like you're the first guy in existence who got graduation sex and then got dumped." Then, Jaina picked up the skirts of her graduation gown and rushed out of there.

"Jaina, will you please let me explain?" Kael'thas blocked her at the door, "I did what I did because I… okay, maybe there was a little revenge in it. I was tired of Arthas, and yes, you… teasing me all of the time. I wanted you to just genuinely appreciate a few nice things about me, before the end. To say that I'm attractive, to want to spend time with me and not have it be about studying, to want to sleep with me, to admit that you… I wanted to see what it would be like if you could just…" he swallowed, looked around, rather than feel how his eyes were stinging, "Let the Elf thing go. Maybe I'm not Human, maybe I do come from a magical kingdom that seems strange to you, maybe it even feels backwards sometimes… but at home I am not entitled, or overly emotional, a nerd, or pathetic. I am a man. A man who keeps his hair better than you do, yes, and feels comfortable expressing his feelings, maybe more than Human men tend to, fine. And maybe I obsess about the details. But I am still a man, with an important role to play, as important as Arthas, and it isn't easy when no one else outside of Quel'thalas understands that. Won't you at least try to see me as someone you could be with?"

"If Quel'thalas is so important to you then why did you come all the way out here to annoy us Humans? Maybe you should have stayed on your own planet."

"I came here to get the best education Azeroth has to offer. I came here because I want to be part of the Alliance and I really want to experience what that means, in its fullness, not like my ancestors did, avoiding any real meaningful interaction with Humans... All I ever wanted to do here in Dalaran was to study, and to be treated like an equal. And then, I fell in love. With you, Jaina. I didn't expect to do that. I'm trying to do the best I can, Jaina, please…"

"No. And now you're trying to force me, as best you can, Kael'thas. The very thing you said you wouldn't do. And don't go telling me that it's some High Elf custom, forcing a woman to marry you."

"It's Highborne, and it's just a ring, Jaina."

Jaina cried with frustration, "It's an engagement! You forced me to get engaged to you… when Arthas sees me wearing this—if anyone sees me wearing this, the **[Heartblood of Anthene]** , your mother's ring, he won't want to marry me and you knew that. You had to know that! You do get that, don't you? You just broke us, me and him! And how am I ever going to explain this to Arthas? He's already so upset about… I can't."

Kael'thas was past his limit as well. He got in her face. "You'll tell Arthas that you finally shagged Kael'thas Sunstrider like you were supposed to, after making me wait through four pointless years of 'let's just be friends.' "

"Hey! No woman owes you sex, don't even go there with me.. Least of all me, because I'm already with someone else. And I thought we really were good friends, Kael'thas."

"All I wanted was a chance, to not be treated like 'that weird Elf kid' in the room!" Kael'thas shouted her down, "…and second, you're gonna admit to Arthas that it was good—another shocker, that you deserved—when calling a man a nerd, or a virgin, or after all those succubus jokes, it doesn't automatically make him into what you assume he is. And, third, you tell Arthas that you're coming back home with me to Silvermoon to be my queen, to be loved by a real man, and share my bed forever. Because hey, here's a novel idea, why shouldn't you marry a handsome prince who's also great in bed, a talented Bloodmage, and who's done nothing but treat you perfectly while that overblown paladin psycho runs all over the countryside ditching you every five minutes? Duh!" Jaina went pale. Kael'thas grabbed her hand with the ring, "As if I care what that pisshead Arthas thinks! If Prince Arthas doesn't like that I finally stole his woman after four loooong years of trying, then he can just take it up with my guards."

"Stoppit, you're hurting my hand!"

"Admit that you love me. It's in there! It's in your prejudiced, fluff-headed little skull, I know it is!"

Jaina tried to pull her hand away and started crying, "You're so horrible. You're such a selfish, cruel monster. After all these years and I thought we were friends, at least that… Yes, I teased you, but it was only teasing! You get me back with this?! You try to force me, and you degrade me, and you break my heart… what's the difference between you and Arthas? You keep picking on him, but it isn't easy on him either and you just won't let it alone..." She sobbed, wouldn't let herself say any more along that vein, "Kael'thas, you're a prince and he's a prince… do you really think I'm that shallow? That a bigger ring is gonna fix it…" She tried to twist out of his grip, ended up shouting it at the far wall, to the whole room, "But I love Arthas!"

"Jaina, that's not what this is. I just… I wanted you to see me."

"You can't love the woman you want… Well, you won't let me love the man I want to love!"

"Please, just… Jaina… I should not have yelled. Lower your voice."

"You let me out of this room, let me out right now, Kael'thas Sunstrider! You let me go, or I'll scream the whole Spire down, and the whole Arcanium, too, I swear. I never want to see you again!"

Jaina wouldn't stop crying, though the ring kept correcting her speech. In the end, she was just afraid of Kael'thas and wanted to get away from him, and ring or no ring, that was clear enough to Kael'thas. It was the precise opposite of the night before. Kael'thas felt like a failure, again. He didn't know what to do. In the end, he stole the kiss goodbye he wanted, felt her fighting him back through it all, then opened the door and pushed Jaina out of the room.

Kael'thas slammed the door behind him, locked it. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear I didn't, Jaina! …Jaina?"

Kael'thas only heard Jaina crying, screaming at him, and running down the stairs.

 **[Heartblood of Anthene]**  
\+ 5,000 to Spellpower  
\+ 5,000 to Intellect  
\+ 5,000 to Damage  
...A shard from the heart of the most beloved Queen of Quel'thalas.


	7. A Lady's Touch

**Note** : The interrogation scene at the beginning is new.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: A Lady's Touch**

Sorn stood and knocked over his chair when Sunthraze made the confession after days of insisting he was innocent, every single time he was interrogated. Two palace guards were positioned by the door. They came forward, but Sorn raised a hand for them to relent.

"This… lie, it will not be tolerated. Send for our best priest. Better yet, send me a skilled shadowpriest."

"Fine. But you'll only waste more time when I know how to get around a mind vision spell." Sunthraze shrugged, "Every good spy does, isn't that why we didn't start out that way?"

Sorn came around the edge of the table. Sunthraze sat there, looking more like a criminal than when they first picked him up. His clothes ripped, his hair not even combed through with his fingers… and a very offensive tattoo in Trollish that Sorn was beginning to fully see and translate for himself…

Sunthraze put his hands, in chains, on the table. He leaned over them.

"Sit up straight. I want to hear you lie to me again, one last time, before I send you straight to the executioner's."

"With no trial?"

"Say it!"

"Celestia realized that I was out of the way in the country, that I could be relied on since she knows my family well, and that I needed the extra money. So I copied the letters, I listened in on conversations if I could… I did set up that envelope, to look opened, just so you would come down to the Garrison and I could listen in and hear the result." Sunthraze could summon the most amazing facial expressions. Now, his eyes were particularly bright, his smirk specifically sardonic, "Why else would someone leave a slit open envelope in the diplomat's bag like that?"

Sorn shook his head, but Sunthraze knew it made more sense than any other theory Sorn might have had. Thankfully, Sorn wasn't so well acquainted with Pyorin who was, in fact, not the best spy in the world, and probably forgot about the ripped envelope.

"I would have known if you were working for the queen!"

"Welp… Clearly, you didn't."

"Why confess this now?"

"I was finally able to make contact with Celestia, through… our network. It took some time. I have full reassurance that you won't be able to do anything against me, and you can't."

"You will not get your hands on… not one more of Kael'thas' letters!"

"That's fair." Sunthraze kept his eyes on the table, when he wasn't totally sure what he should say next, "I mean… you caught me fair and square. Game over. My bad."

"Your… bad?! Young people these days, I swear!"

Sunthraze outstretched his arms, "So. Can I go, yet? There's another adorable redhead, other than myself, that I'd like to catch up with."

Sorn paced, "I am not like the other advisors to the king. I take all this more seriously than death, and I would follow King Anasterian, and Kael'thas, the true Sunstriders, the only men in this kingdom with the power, the breeding, the magic to rule perfectly… I would follow them to hell and back! I will make sure that you go down, Lord Sunthraze, I will cinch your fate one way or some other way! Rest assured, whatever Celestia has… conveyed to you through her sour grapevine…"

"Peh. Sour grapevine. Good one." Sunthraze arced a sarcastic eyebrow, though.

"You, boy, are mine. And mine alone. You will not see the sun again, as far as I'm concerned!" Sorn turned to the guards, "Lock him up. And he gets no more priveleges, no nothing… I hear you've been getting newspapers, circling everything with Kael'thas in it. You do mean him harm. I will prove that."

"Who said that Celestia wants to harm Kael'thas? Maybe she's just… overly interested in her husband's work? She wants something to chat with the king about, other than the obvious, when they hit the sheets at night, know what I mean?" Sunthraze waggled eyebrows.

"Revolutionary! Rebel scum! All of you are the same. Arrogant, ignorant to what is truly at stake, and therefore destructive… I will find every single last one of you and… shoot you all out of cannons! I want him out of my sight!"

They came and got Sunthraze by the arms, moved him to the door.

"I love you too, Sorn. Don't worry, I also intend stay wedged in your gray hair for a good, long time. You'll never forget the name of… Sunthraze the Sly."

But Sunthraze found he liked winding up the old man. And it did sound pretty good, to him. Really slick, in fact. Better than his tattoo.

And if it wasn't so meta, it would have been downright clever.

 **L** ater that day, Sorn sat back from the newest letter on his desk and exhaled a long breath. Lady Jaina Proudmoore had an elegant hand, as anyone would expect. And this one had been delivered to him, into his hands, by a personal servant of Jaina's. At first, Sorn was alarmed to see a Human walking briskly toward him. Sorn worried that it might be that inevitable 'Help us with the Plague now or else' message from King Terenas, also signed by High Priestess Tyrande, King Magni Bronzebeared and the Mekkatorque. Palace servants with their heads on straight these days, like Sorn, dreaded that hammer coming down, when Anasterian was getting better and better at ignoring the pleas from Stormwind. And when Anasterian refused to travel there for the Human's convocation to discuss what needed to be done about the Plague, Sylvanas had to practically pull teeth, and favors to be allowed to go in his place. Anasterian still wasn't too pleased about it, since it wasn't his idea, but the Highborne king was also glad for it to be off his shoulders.

But Jaina's latest letter of complaint about Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider was more of a threat. Bottom line: Get the ring off her finger now, or the Highborne could kiss their part in the Alliance goodbye. And with her connections, she might very well do it. The woman was practically the Queen of Lordaeron already. Everyone knew Prince Arthas' intentions toward her. Lord Proudmoore was rumored to be preparing a ship to sail all the way across the Great Sea from Kalimdor, and there wasn't even a wedding date set. It was horrifyingly serious this time.

"A letter to Kael'thas politely asking him to 'cut it out or I tell your father' won't do this time either," Sorn arched his fingers and sighed again, thinking.

He hated to get King Anasterian involved. Some parents were tigers with their children, chasing them toward opportunities, bearing down on them, ensuring they succeeded. Others became lions and fought for their children's sakes until the enemy was in humiliating shreds. Anasterian was neither. He was more of a dragon parent. Touch his son and he turned you to ash. Then again, sometimes Anasterian turned around and turned Kael'thas into ash, too, if he stepped out of line. Mostly, the poor prince's backside. Suffice it to say, Sorn hated above all else to actually get the king involved, when Anasterian was so impossible to control. A very bad college prank could get escalated to an international incident. Dalaran itself may get ripped up out of the ground and flung across the stratosphere, with Anasterian's moods…

" 'Dear Sorn, the **[Heartblood of Anthene]** has come into my possession after a forced engagement to Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider which amounts to third-account kidnapping…'

Sorn sighed through his nose, "If the prince knew that a man in charge of Highborne security practically laughed at all his misfortunes… It's all profit to them. Gossip for the papers, gossip for the palace spies. Well, we'll deal with that Sunthraze spy very, very soon."

Very stressed, Sorn took the letters, all of the recent ones, and folded them into a leather folio. He got his courage and left his office to at least deal with it properly. The way he had been trained. The way that he must.

Some days, the Sunspire felt immense. As Sorn walked, reds and golds bled into one another. Cream painted walls hummed with so much power latent in every stained glass window, every polished artifact positioned perfectly as one passed by. And through those windows one could see people lingering against the majestic stone, wherever the guards weren't prone to be, because the palace itself was built on such strong leylines, it felt good to just touch it. Anyplace else felt… less. Imagine being inside of such a place. Imagine being raised there, living there your whole life, and told that other places, other people far less blessed, were no good and that they could never, ever aspire to be. Yes, that's it, you see… you would believe it.

Soon after Sorn was admitted into the royal apartments, he saw Queen Celestia Sunstrider coming down the corridor. He swore under his breath. It was so well orchestrated, she could have only timed it.

"Ah, Advisor Sorn. So good of you. I'll take that to him."

"I am happy to oblige, of course, my queen, but I should inform you, it isn't regarding the convocation proceedings."

"It isn't?" though, Celestia wasn't asking Sorn, she was toying with him. Her plump hand was still opened to receive the letter. She thrust it at him again and all the silver bangles around her wrist jingled. Those silver bracelets were prettier than the unhappy stormy energy the woman regularly drummed up. Celestia was attractive, but she was also one of those classic Court of the Sun style ladies who excelled at only practicing the best of virtues, not living them. Beauty, even kindness, could be performed, like an art. The rest of her was all black dragon bones and guile. And there was a dangerous ice mage somewhere beneath all that, too. By heritage, Celestia was a distant Sunstrider anyway. Though the ancestry was at best obscure. Just enough of it to make her a safe bet for Anasterian Sunstrider to marry her… when he finally chose to settle again.

And Sorn was sure that it was a 'settling for' that Anasterian had done. Of course Celestia was glamorous and charming, 'she would have had to have been,' as Celestia liked to put it. And by then, Anasterian was a clever enough man to figure, before it was too late, that his reputation wouldn't stand for him to be an out-and-out lecher forever.

Around the kingdom, sympathy for the king and widower was starting to run out. So he got himself a pretty wife on a reasonable schedule, who incensed him—and more than a decade later, she somehow still incensed the king's passion. Though Sorn liked not to think about that end of things.

Sorn slipped the letter into the leather folio he carried instead. He should not have brought it out in the first place. He was just so anxious about that letter.

"A secret?"

Sorn wouldn't answer her.

"I see. King Anasterian will be upset with me if I see it first. So then, it can only about the other love of his life. Prince Kael'thas?"

Sorn looked at the carpet a moment. Then he looked her in the eye, defiant.

"The other advisors are so much nicer to me, Sorn… they all want something and I make sure they have it. Property, jewels, girls… Boys?"

Sorn flinched at that. "You know that I'm… how dare you—"

Celestia's tone turned impatient, "I swear, the poor prince has two fathers and he doesn't even know it. Though I hear, lately, Kael'thas is in sore need of a very good woman. My spies are always so useful, aren't they? Something about… the Lady Proudmoore? That not going well. And his mother's ring is involved too now, isn't it?"

So you see, Sorn had not been joking in any measure about corrupt Farstriders raiding his office for tidbits to sell to the highest bidder around the empire. Less than an hour ago, that was.

"In need of a good woman… Very clever, my queen. Are you making back up plans?" Sorn intoned as sweetly as Celestia accused him. Fear rushed through him after that slipped out. He felt cold. It was a stupid thing to let happen. Nobody spoke to the queen that way, not even Anasterian tried that. Or, if he did, he always regretted it later, even if privately. Sorn knew. The king confided in him during the rougher times of his marriage. The ones Celestia created, for her revenge. Though, they did like to take revenge on one another.

Celestia smiled, folded hands politely over the sapphire bodice of her gown and slowly strutted up close to him. They could have kissed. Sorn hated that and she knew it.

"Do you know why I never gave his majesty, the king, another heir?"

Sorn kept his mouth shut this time. Though she was laying herself out to another very easy rip in her reputation. Then, Sorn checked himself. No, that was precisely it. Celestia was making herself easy bait, to dare him to do it again and trap him. She'd strung closer friends up for treason before.

"I don't want any child of mine to compete with that Kael'thas. Nor, to endure the love of his father." She then marched away, skirts rustling. Aloud, and overly happy, "So-called love. Easy to give and take. A trade for a trade, that's how it works, Sorn. I gave three hours of it to him easily, just this morning." Her crude announcement now carried down the whole corridor. Anasterian would no doubt hear it too. "Now, I'm going out! I've been given a whole purseful of gold, to go shopping, how kind of him to treat his queen like that." Then, she darkened, " 'Whatever pleases you, Celeste dear, the way you pleased me,' that's what he said. That's just what the king said to me." Then, Celestia slammed her palms into the ornate doors herself and threw them both open, before the stewards or guards could. She turned on him again, made a show of cinching up the bust of her dress in the white sunlight. The sun blasted in from the great palace windows in the hall beyond, "I hope you have something big to barter with for your own wretched cause, old man!" Then, the doors slammed again. Celestia, the blinding sun, all shut out. But her terrible joke remained though.

As good as if she'd slapped him. And Anasterian, too. One shot.

The butler asked Sorn to go into the room, so Sorn assumed Anasterian would be mostly decent. He was not.

Anasterian had an arcane crystal on the table with his finished breakfast. He sort of… fondled it, while his other hand held up the newspaper. The other side of the round table in the royal bedroom had almost a full meal set down. Sorn only had to worry about that for a moment. Clearly, Celestia had been batting him around after Anasterian had insulted her and she abruptly left breakfast, or something like it. Then again, Sorn admonished himself not to assume or to judge the royal family so harshly. As far as he knew, Celestia was just eager to go shopping like she said, or to—

"Sorn, I don't suppose you want to eat after the queen. Though, it's hardly been touched. I just got tired of her voice all of a sudden so I insulted her to make her go." And his voice sounded so kindly about it too.

Nevermind. The Sunstriders would be Sunstriders. Arrogant and difficult till the end. Though also, the strongest of people.

"I think I like her angry, though." Anasterian lowered the newspaper. A very roguish smile on his face, then. "I did marry well. I'm still proud of the decision. She's a fun one to wind up. And she does such an excellent job of taking it out on me in the evenings…" though, Anasterian yawned and gestured in a very ungentlemanly way at the tumbled around bedsheets. It looked like a storm had hit it, unsheathed pillows, curtains thrown back from the bed canopy. "Then again, we did that this morning." He yawned, itched his scalp. "So, your king is having a lovely day so far. I hope you don't spoil it."

Sorn had seat. He wasn't hungry, but he had to sit. He noticed a small glass of brandy by Celestia's meal. He hated anything to do with that woman, but he snatched the glass and knocked it back. He was sure he'd need it.

"Well, I suppose I should put this thing down and make eye contact with you." Anasterian did so. Then, the king grinned and waited while the awkward tension built up. This one was also into games, strategies…Then, Sorn noticed something strange about the king's teeth.

"Do you… have you got… fangs?"

"Yes, finally someone was brave enough to point that out to me. I thought it would be fun, or disturbing. I don't know. So I had them put in for a while."

Sorn raised his eyebrows. Anasterian was a good-looking man, it was painful being in his presence at times. He gestured like it, dressed like it. It was infuriating and it all came naturally to him. Now, suddenly, he wanted to look a bit like some fabled creature of the night, with slightly elongated canines. It wasn't horrid, it was more striking. Another thing about his life he'd done foolishly well. It raised any number of questions. Where did the idea come from? What strange craftsman volunteered for that? Certainly no price was high enough if he failed, and it was a fool's errand to do well, to be sure. And then, whose teeth were those? Some captured Troll's? An imprisoned Night Elf somewhere? Likely, they were ivory, or at least elven, in order to fit and look proportionate… And who was going to stop the Highborne king?

"I'm afraid that Prince Kael'thas, he—"

"Wonderful graduation, wonderful. He beat those Humans at their game, too, didn't he? Excelled in every single subject. Nobody could out-major him. He won all the majors, I was so proud."

It wasn't… exactly how Human universities worked.

"Is that… the point, of specializing? At that level of study. I thought that's what the Humans try to do, at school. Sort of sharpen themselves on just one end of things, not unlike…" Sorn searched for an elegant word for it, but Highborne just can't escape certain prejudices, "…a stick."

"Well, they're doing it wrong. Kael'thas showed them how to do it properly. I'm sure they'll change Dalaran completely now that he's passed through it. They'll have to. Very proud of him. Celestia and I came back through, um, the portal last night. I still find violet portals strange, to use for traveling so far. But the Humans in Dalaran arranged it for us." Then he laughed to himself, "And actually… you'll never believe this. Queen Celestia, she made this horrible joke before I walked in. She told me—" He cracked up very hard, "that it might be some magical assassination attempt by the Humans, so I'd better not step through it, if I was so afraid. Haha! Can you believe that? Can you really believe she said that to me in front of all the guards, all our entourage assembled, all the guests going to Kael'thas' graduation, all that."

Sorn smiled uncomfortably.

"…Gods, she's such a cruel bitch, I love it. And then, of course I had to walk through, to prove her wrong. Wow." Anasterian leaned his forehead in hand, had to cover his face for a moment. "Some days, I can't tell if I've married my enemy or my best friend. Celestia does know just how to unseat me. Maybe… maybe I'll have someone shoot an arrow into the headboard tonight—not while she's in the bed, you see. Just an arrow with a note attached. A little… death-themed love note. And a rose, perhaps, under the sheets. I want her to be afraid, at first. Then later…" Anasterian smiled, then composed himself again, "Anyway, perhaps that's what wound me up this morning. Other than Celestia's horrific sense of humor, I'm so happy for Kael'thas these days. It's not hard to feel… feel like the world is right. When your son is finally doing well."

"Your Majesty—"

"After how he struggled here in Silvermoon, too. Wolves are all around this place. Even Celestia has her spies, I know that. But she's harmless, she just likes to… bite things." Anasterian grinned, felt one of his pointed teeth. Sorn suddenly felt that the two of them had been transported back to university. Into a noisy lockeroom with other young men guffawing at smutty jokes all around.

"There is… a letter, you see. From Lady Jaina, about—"

"Mind you, I told my boy not to worry about that woman. I married Celestia just in time. Kael was too old for that dragoness to imprint on him, and she surely wasn't going to raise him. I'd already done that. Athene and I already had…"

Here, Sorn knew better than to try interrupting again.

"Well, I told Kael'thas that Celestia is not his mother. She's simply… Daddy's toy. That's all. She's just my little amusement. I wind her up and watch her go. Did I already say that?" Anasterian picked up the newspaper again, then he put it back down, folded it. "Weren't you about to tell me something?"

"Yes, I… yes." Sorn straightened up in the chair. He had to do this. After all, Kael'thas was the king's own son, Anasterian deserved to know what was going on, "Well, Kael'thas gave Jaina the ring."

"…Yes?"

Sorn realized immediately what he implied. "She… is only wearing it. The thing is—"

"She's accepted!" Anasterian got up, threw his paper down, then remembered himself and sat, lowered his voice. "This is amazing! So he finally won the girl, he finally got her, did he? Why didn't he write me? But he wrote you? Oh well, doesn't matter. I told him, it'd be… well, unusual to have a Human queen on the throne, but, so what—I'm happy if he's happy. That boy is the joy of my life, I'll break the laws for him and make it so. When is she coming? That's a gorgeous girl too, I've seen her. Clever thing."

"Well, she is… Jaina is still wearing it and she isn't very… well she is um," and then, Sorn was not sure why he lied. Only that he was right to, "She is deciding. What to do next. It isn't exactly an engagement."

Anasterian sank back in his chair. "Well." Then, he warmed into another smile, "Let her, then. The beautiful ring certainly helps, doesn't it? I think that ring is properly enchanted, it's so beautiful. No woman can say no to that ring. Jaina will consider, carefully. And then we will see her prove herself. She'll come to the conclusion that my son is a better villain than Arthas."

"Villain… sir?"

"Well, you know. They're both rogues. They're both tough guys. Kael'thas has spells, Arthas has that damned sword. You know women. It's a bad boy they want. The man who beats out the other one. And Kael'thas, I told him to put his ring right over the little Lordaeron gold one she's already got. Cover it right up. I'm sure he did it that way. Makes a statement. She'll see it in the end. Pretty, pretty girl. Smart too." Anasterian leaned in, "And the other thing about Kael'thas, he's half of his mother. So, yes, he does get a darker, meaner side from me. I do know that about myself. But then, this loving, very kind some of him, the kind I wanted to preserve, keep safe. The part that's been protected while he's in Dalaran, away from the… creatures here in Silvermoon. Yes, Jaina will see him in the end. That he is a very, very good person. My son. A better man than me. I'd run King Terenas through with my own sword first, before I saw my Kael'thas… abused in any way. I would do it, Sorn. I would. I'll not have thousands of years of perfect rule, the Sunstrider line, come to that. You know that I mean it."

"… Well, yes. Politically."

"No. Actually." Anasterian raised eyebrows at Sorn. "Feckless Humans and their feckless, expensive wars. They're all getting what they deserve. And the sooner Kael'thas comes home, out of that mess around Dalaran, the better. I'm sure Lady Jaina will be relieved to escape from that with him. Queen of Lordaeron and all its problems, feh. I hear the people there need boots to stand in the mess they've made of the place. But Silvermoon. May she be forever perfect. Like the front of Celestia's dress."

Anasterian waited. Sorn did not laugh.

"…A land as idyllic as Dath'remar himself first prophesied. King Kael'thas. Queen Jaina. That sounds very good indeed, don't you think so?"

"…Yes."

Sorn rose from the table.

"Is that all?"

Sorn did not expect lying to his king to be a physical pain. He nodded. Sorn peered through it, stinging all through his body, the acute sense that… the horrible realization that… King Anasterian, he could not handle this. He would wreck this. And Celestia disliked Kael'thas. She might just seize upon the opportunity and lead Anasterian further into ruining things with the Humans. Their king was already so firmly set against them.

"You look like me, like you want to, well… cry." Anasterian got up. He clapped him on the back, then hugged Sorn and shook his hand. "I'm going to be a father-in-law. Soon. And then Kael'thas will finally have a—well, I'll say it. A real family. Not just an… aggrieved father, still grieving for his one wife. His real wife. And toying around the rest of his time with the woman who must be called… his queen.

Anasterian nodded slowly, "No, but Kael'thas will be fine as long as he doesn't botch it up. And he won't. This, this is the fight of Kael'thas' life, Sorn. That's what Kael told me and I believe him. I was happy to send that ring of his mother's for him to use. Kael loves that girl so much, I know he does. For the last four years, Jaina was all he could talk about and I let him do it, too. Let him dream. I encouraged that. And then I showed Kael how to be careful. To take a good woman gently. Just as I did with his mother. Now that he's so close, Kael'thas won't lose her."

Sorn nodded.

"Another thing. My lawyers say the Convocation is looking for those… documents. Do you remember the ones we were discussing, just the other day?" Anasterian waited. Sorn wasn't sure, so he failed to answer in time, "The thing is, I'm afraid I won't be able to hand those records over. You see… when they don't exist."

Sorn shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"They never existed, Sorn."

Once more, eager to end the strange conversation, "Yes, King Anasterian. Your word is all that I need. I'm sure they never did."

"…Good. You may go."

Sorn left. Sorn felt horrible, but he also chose to take that feeling away, with him. Safe from Anasterian himself.

Next, Chief Advisor Sorn knew that he was going to see her. He didn't plan it. He didn't wonder whether he should, or send a messenger first to see if she was available, or still there, or still alive. He had been thinking about Sister Liadrin for a decade. He had been thinking of her every day, and always felt that he should see her, that he should be ashamed that he hadn't done so yet. It always felt like he needed to and that one day, things would come to a head and he would have to. Perhaps because he knew that what the Sunstriders had done to her was so wrong. Or, no…

As the carriage moved through the city, Sorn noticed groups of people standing around, watching the red and gold bunting go up in the royal square. Sorn smiled at what he missed since the last time he'd had a time to stroll through the city. Statues of Kael'thas, now finished, were being painted gold and decorated. All of Silvermoon was excited to receive him back from Dalaran, at long last. It was also something Anasterian decided the royal house needed to do, shift the public's focus to his son, who, despite Kael'thas' shortcomings, was good-looking and very much the legends of Dath'remar in many ways (very skilled with magic and good tempered). Well, he was the easier Sunstrider for people to swallow, these days. Kael'thas turned out to be an excellent distraction from his father's issues with the Convocation of Silvermoon. Silvermoon's own government was racking up everything to philandering to wasting the royal treasury against him…

Sorn held his head, feeling it throb. No, Kael'thas was coming home. He was coming home perfectly safe, and then the power in the kingdom would change hands, easily. When the time was right, was natural for it to. By then, Kael'thas would be ready. For the next few miles, Sorn focused on the soft blue inside of the carriage, slashes of daylight and shadows of leaves, people passing over that as everything rolled on.

Sorn finally pried the curtain back from the carriage window again when the Hawkstriders slowed and he knew, at last, that there was grass under their feet and not cobblestone, inviting shade and not loud sun, boiling the senses. They were fully and truly ensconced in the countryside of Eversong Woods.

Sorn resumed his anxious thoughts after being let out of the carriage, going through the motions of greeting the resident chapel mother who was 'So honored to see him…' and of course he told her the King and Queen were very well, their lives were perfect and they exchanged warm greetings in turn… No, the reason why he felt compelled to come and see Liadrin was… It was because, all along, Lady Liadrin was the only person ever inside the Sunspire, in their whole kingdom, who had been right. A king who cannot act like a king. A queen who failed at queen-ing. A lost prince. And protectors of the realm who spread themselves so far astride her, it was only obvious what they were really doing to her. To the land, its people… its most vulnerable people. And no one, except for Sister Liadrin would believe Sorn, that Prince Kael'thas was among the most vulnerable.

Just because he was a prince did not mean he could not be hurt, he could not suffer, he could not snap. And Sorn feared Kael'thas had snapped. Slowly, ever slowly, ever more aware of his father's madness, the coldness of other people. In a world where no one could question the Sunstriders, Kael'thas coming into power was the one hope for many people who suffered the same. The one way for things to finally get better in Quel'thalas. Yes, Prince Kael'thas was rumored to be arrogant. He was rumored to be mean, like his father. But he could also be a very loving person. Sorn didn't want to look at the future if things continued in the same way, the cruel monarchy and its wayward servants going on, embittering people and embittering Kael'thas most of all. The one meant to receive the great wrecked gift of kingship, while it was bad enough for others and they were only stuck suffering under the weight of it. Kael'thas was going to be the one to hold it over them. And how would Kael'thas do that, if he suffered? Oh, Sorn feared to see how terrible Quel'thalas could truly get.

He sensed, with the acute perception of the chief advisor to a king, that their country would be soon going through some kind of bottleneck and if there was going to be any relief, it had to come on time. The relief needed to be scheduled in early and be addressed properly. Facilitated. And man like him would have to be the one to do the facilitating. How many of King Anasterian's messes had he cleaned up, in advance?

Now, Sorn was at the Convent of the Stars. The last place anybody in the royal family would expect him to be, but it felt right. And the ease one feels, the cool calmness of taking care of a task ahead of schedule, arriving early, this washed over him as their feet clicked softly over pristine, swept marble. The whole place smelled of that particular lemon soap solution, such a fine thing, that the sisters mixed themselves and used… Sorn made himself resume focus on the dire task at hand, though he did admire that there was perfect discipline somewhere in Quel'thalas. He reminded himself that it was righteous, taking the matter up with… her. Within his deepest instincts as Anasterian's chief servant, his confidant, a servant of the whole House of Sunstrider and the kingdom, too. As a Highborne and as a man, Sorn felt assured that this great, though perhaps slightly rebellious… this clean… correctness about the problem, it was essential. He must consult those who knew the situation better than he did in order to get it right, the first time. Take his chance and see the expert. Diagnose and resolve the malady with exactness.

So then, did he believe there was a disease among the powerful ones in Silvermoon? Sorn's lips parted with surprise at that question in his mind. He soon suffocated the thought. Sorn itched his graying moustache, and busied attention at smoothing the edges neatly instead.

Sorn was guided deeper into the convent, past the rooms of cloistered sisters praying to the Light silently. He saw them through the small portholes. Sorn took a few chances while his guide's back was turned, to go up on toes and peek through. The priestesses of the Light were fingering their sparkling orange sun-beads, or kneeling among the roses in the courtyard, trimming buds, being pricked by the thorns and never complaining, not uttering even that.

At last, they went through three sets of heavy locking doors along a cream painted corridor. Yellow and blue light from the stained glass windows glowed on the unremarkable tiled floor. The colors melded into one another to yield ravishing greens, soft purples.

Hers was suddenly a door on their right. Sorn got no warning, he was just sent in. And then, at last, he was standing before the sensible brunette, such a decent woman with an understandable amount of pain and disappointment in her eyes. Joy was there too, a little joy. Sorn felt instantly in her care. Lady Liadrin was alright with revealing to him that, even after everything, she was happy to see him.

"So I see… not everyone disagrees with my 'Diatribe on the Light'." Liadrin's tone, sharp as ever. Like cut glass. Sorn found he often had to be an inoffensive glass bead around royal people. Then again, the Sunstriders hadn't forced him to live in… well… Liadrin did sign on to be a priestess when she was young. And the king would have known that. So, it must have gratified her to a certain extent, to be back with them, even if she was away from palace life.

"It's an asylum for women with opinions." Liadrin seemed to guess his thought.

Sorn moved them past the awkward moment. "Well yes, I've read your landmark publication." He tried not to say that it'd been while the book was still legal. Before it was banned in many libraries. Well, all the libraries. Human, Dwarven and Elven.

Liadrin was seated at a desk in the clean office. He expected it to be her room, with a bed. Sorn looked around the small space again, to check. If not a bed, then perhaps a door to a bedroom? No, nothing like that. Sorn supposed that Sisters of the Light would have known better than to let them have that, as a man and a woman alone together. Then Sorn flushed with excitement at having let his mind go there, and quickly tucked the old warm feelings away.

Liadrin invited him to sit. Her chair was not facing the desk, it was turned slightly, to face the window. And, the door. Instinctively, she was vigilant, watching carefully for everything that could occur after they no doubt sent someone to warn her the king's chief advisor was in the building, put her in this room. Sorn sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair. It was not Celestia's chair or the chair in his hopeless office. It was the humble, rickety chair facing Liadrin's. Sorn found he really liked that.

They had glasses of water, not tea. Liadrin sipped hers. She turned a little and looked out of the window. The colored glass at the very top glowed. They weren't at an angle, in this room, for the sun to 'smear it all over the walls,' as Liadrin jokingly put it.

Sorn said, "The Light makes the most beautiful purple, through the stained glass here… in a shade I've never before seen. I think that's what distracted me all the way through the halls. I didn't even realize we had arrived at your room—ah, this room, I mean."

Liadrin set down her glass. She was dressed simply, in a white linen dress. A blue rope was tied around her waist. Her hair was pinned up beneath a small white cap.

"So… the Sunspire has finally gone to shit."

Sorn laughed. She'd surprised him.

"That is why you're here? I didn't expect you, Sorn. Or, if I did… I always imagined that you'd write first."

For some reason he could not ask himself, Sorn opened the leather folio and handed the document to Liadrin without reservation. When he wouldn't hand it to Celestia, into her claws. When he was terrified how Anasterian would get it in his teeth. Sorn didn't know why. It just seem to be right, to even be her letter, in a way. Perhaps because… perhaps because once, they always shared things like this. When they were friends. When she was Anasterian's confessor.

And when he was once desperately infatuated with her, her dignity and beauty, and would give her anything in the world that she needed from him. A fantastic age ago. Suddenly, though, it was happening again.

Liadrin was already halfway through the letter.

"She says Kael'thas is suicidal."

"What?!" Sorn got up from his seat. He stood over her shoulder, "I've read it many times, it doesn't say that!"

"No. But her concern… she's afraid he'll hurt himself. Or, other people. That is what this is really about. It's not the ring." Liadrin sighed, moved down the letter to read the rest. "This is not about the ring at all."

No one else had seen that. What would they have done with the information? And to assassinate Anasterian's heir… for Celsestia or any loose affiliation of a corrupt Sunstrider, that letter would make a clean act of it—convenient proof that Kael'thas did not want to exist, that he was capable of it. A murder could be made to look just like it. Of course, it was terrible for Sorn, for him to see his imagination to leap that far. But Liadrin met his eye when she was done, and it was clear she'd already gone there as well.

"Sorn… this is horrible. The boy lost his mother years ago. I don't think Kael'thas ever really got over it, and now this. And Jaina is young, I don't think she realizes what she's done to him. She should not have taken our prince to bed, not if he's just a 'Nerdboy', some trifle in her eyes."

"Lady Jaina is very precious to him, and I'm sure—"

"She's not a lady in here, I don't care about her." Liadrin put the letter on the desk, shrugged.

"Won't you help me?"

Liadrin became quiet. She shared a final look with Sorn, sighed, and took up the letter again. "And his parents truly don't know? Or, I should say, 'parent.' Anasterian, at the least, should be aware of this, how depressed and anxious his son is. Kael'thas is obsessed, to have gone this far. And he's been bullied all this time, at university. Jaina's seen him very upset, on many occasions. That's what she's intimating. I suppose, in a way, she could not come out and say it. Suppose this was intercepted?"

"So, it's not so much… the ring, that she can't get it off. Eventhough you say that doesn't matter—"

"No, Sorn. It's that she can't give it back to him. And it's his mother's ring. Kael'thas needs it. It really is all that he has, now. And also now that she's rejected him and his father… is always so far away." Then, clever Liadrin flew into another subject, "How did Kael'thas ever smuggle that ring out of the royal treasury? All the way from Dalaran?"

"Well, he only had to ask his father for it."

"I see. So mad king Anasterian, he only encouraged it. The painful… self-destructive tendency his son has. It's no wonder, I guess, when Anasterian can't even see the same thing in himself." Liadrin shook her head. Now she couldn't stop looking at the letter. "Well, I know both Sunstrider men and their minds… but all I can give you is my advice. I'm on punishment, or don't you remember that? And a little thing like me, I can't swing a sword. I can't lop any heads off for you. Though this Jaina's head, I'd have it on a silver platter in a second if you asked me for it."

"Well," Sorn made a nervous smile, "She's Prince Arthas' intended. Lady Jaina Proudmoore is practically the queen of Lordaeron."

But Liadrin was decided, "I do not like her at all. Let me guess… intelligent, young, thin, pretty, innocent, blonde—what else are Sunstrider men into? Well, these days… Impossible? Or, should I say intractable? And arrogant? As a beast. With a ring in her nose… Busty?"

"You've described Queen Celestia of Silvermoon well. Now, I don't think Kael'thas would go and make the same mistake as his father. Lady Jaina is more of a… um…"

"Oh, but Celestia's not thin today. Celestia wasn't thin yesterday, either. Not in a month of Sundays."

Sorn laughed, "True. I'm afraid she's always worn it well, though."

"Well enough for _him_." Now, Liadrin didn't want to say the king's name. "And he would try and start a war with the Humans over something like this, if he knew. This Lady Jaina Proudmoore taking his late wife's ring? Breaking his son's heart, and his mind? Kael'thas bullied at university for years and years, by her and Kael'thas too afraid or proud to say anything about it. Then Prince Arthas is obviously the ringleader, he's in every other sentence of Jaina's. Arthas of all people, the son of the Human king Anasterian loathes the most…" Liadrin gestured around with the letter in her hand, as if the damning document were nothing better than a shopping list. It kept making Sorn set his teeth and reach a little for it, "Oh, Anasterian would finally have the not-so-flimsy excuse he needs. Or Celestia might conspire to have Kael'thas killed, and be able to cover it up. Then, destroyed by grief, it'd be easy to declare… Anasterian… a mad king, make it official for not just the confessors and chief advisors and wives sworn to secrecy in his life. After that, Celestia would have the throne to herself. And she'd feel like, after being called a queen but treated like the royal concubine all this time, all while he's had a mountain of lovers ontop of her anyway… Celestia, queen absolute of Quel'thalas… she'd feel like she'd earned it. In a small way, and I never thought I'd say this… I wouldn't blame her." But then, Liadrin got as hard as steel, "But I would never, ever blame Kael'thas either."

"Oh, Liadrin! Gods, I can really see it now…" he covered his face a moment. "I did need you to out and say it, though. War with the humans, or the Highborne struggling under a vengeful, despot queen. Kael'thas caught in the middle or worse…"

"That's what will come to pass, certainly, if no one does anything."

"But what _can_ we do, to stop any of this?"

"I assume you can't get him back home?"

"Kael'thas refused to return right after graduation. But the campus will empty out soon, term is over. They won't let him stay in Dalaran forever." He whispered, "Besides, with our reports of what's really going on in the Human countryside… oh no, no, no. He shouldn't stay. I do know that."

Liadrin drummed fingers on the table. "Kael'thas doesn't want to face reality. And surely not, not after his fantasy of the perfect woman to fix his world, to be his mother and his wife and his goddess all in one, now ruined."

Sorn sat down again, leaned elbows on his knees. I'd take the portal to Dalaran myself, but… there are many restrictions. The king's mages keep access locked tight. And then, of course, Anasterian would know what I was doing. He'd quickly find it out, whatever excuse I made. So, whatever we try, we must… we will be required to go around him."

Liadrin stood, though. She went to the shelf. "I have a book… I keep it here. I don't want it in my room, or I'll be the one to obsess over it." She offered it up, then she took it back. She squeezed it like she would hug it but of course she couldn't be seen, hugging a book. "This is his mother. Anthene'alas. All that I knew about her, from Anasterian. All good. I couldn't write anything bad if I tried. Well, she did have flaws… but the only mistake Queen Anthene ever made was falling in love with him. Though, Kael'thas, being the result of their love, would never think that of his mother. So…" she swallowed, "Send this… send this along to him."

Sorn took the book, turned it over. "I remember this one. Your first book, after you were um… cloistered. But this edition of the book is banned…"

"Because none of Anasterian's propaganda is in there. It was before the vultures got to it. Send a messenger with this to Kael'thas. It won't fix everything, but it will ease his distress, for now. It will remind him that he is loved."

"And do you love him?"

"Obviously, I'm done with Anasterian-"

"Kael'thas. You once thought you were going to be his mother."

It was almost rude to ask. Liadrin leaned against the windowsill once more. She looked down and played with her fingers. "I will always cherish Kael'thas. Eventhough I didn't marry Anasterian. Not the way I wanted to. And then… and then he put me in here."

Sorn couldn't help himself. "What happened, on that day? After I said goodbye to you? I didn't think… I didn't think you'd be out and out punished like this, sworn to silence beyond these walls? I have always wanted to tell you, Liadrin. I have always wanted to say that I'm sorry and that I—"

"Enough. I'll tell you the story. But then, you must leave, Sorn. And you must send that to Kael'thas immediately. Other than that, I can only think of you… getting a delegation or other." She squinted at something beyond the window, something she hated to see, though she was in a convent full of devoted priestesses, "…Good people. Maybe some of his old Silvermoon friends, if he's got any, to go and visit him. They must be truly virtuous people who don't mean him any harm whatsoever. No one that his father would choose, of course. And really just… fetch him back home after they've seen him. Get Kael'thas back here, where we can keep a better eye on him. Though I don't know who could do it. There isn't a Farstrider in this kingdom that I can trust, I don't know about you."

Sorn sighed. "Alright. But you must tell me. About that day with Anasterian. Please. What he was really like in those last days, and how this whole thing started, with that ring. It may even help me, when I write Kael'thas and send the book. I worry now that, if he never reads it… I must get him to open the book and at least try. I want to speak with him myself, desperately."

"Obviously. I would, too, but it wouldn't mean anything to Kael'thas. My chance, I missed it."

"But Lia, if I go to Dalaran, Anasterian will be right on my heels."

Liadrin sat down again. "… I can't make that journey." Her voice wavered for the first time since Sorn arrived. And his unprecedented arrival should have been disturbing enough for her.

"But your first lesson about the **[Heartblood of Anthene]** is that it is not truly a ring. It is a relic. It encapsulates the impossible love of one woman for the Sunstrider line and her kingdom. A love that should have never existed, but yet… but yet it embodies itself, even today, in the form of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider. So then, he is hope incarnate."

"You make me feel like we're in the middle of a religious service. Or… some pagan ritual."

"I am not joking with you, Sorn." Liadrin's expression darkened, but then a smile flickered there. In a moment, in a heartbeat, it reminded him of Anasterian's perfect smile, now marred by pointed teeth. "This kingdom, for too long, has been devoid of true love. Compassion, kindness for other living beings. We need that ring, and we need our prince. Back home, alive. Queen Anthene'alas sacrificed everything for both her boys while she was alive, Anasterian and Kael'thas." Her voice rose with conviction. She turned from the window, to face him, "And I feel that… I, alone, understood why."

"I believe you may be right, Sister Liadrin."

"Then, unfortunately," she spread open her hands, "that means the whole world is wrong, and it needs to be upset. Would you agree with that as well, Chief Advisor Sorn?"

Sorn did not know what to say.

"Sorn. I know there will be red tape, and bickering over who says… who can do what." Then Liadrin shook her head, "But I don't care. As soon as you can, you get a few good Farstriders. And you go get Kael'thas."

Sorn got up to leave. He extended his hand. This gentleman with hair gone white, fine robes and a humble skull cap, looking so knowledgeable, tried, true, still so relevant… he was frightened that the exhausted priestess in simple robe, passed over and forgotten, dressed almost as a pauper, she would want not hug him goodbye. Sorn waited for Liadrin to accept, to at least shake his hand. To part as colleagues, as friends, after everything. Instead, Liadrin made a fist. She raised it across her chest, then brought the arm down sharply, to salute him.

"For some reason… I feel that should have been the other way around, Liadrin." Sorn fidgeted.

She smiled absently. "Good luck on your mission. As for me… my part in this is quite done. Old and washed up, and plain as dirt. No one reading what I write, or ever listening to my ideas anymore. And I thought they were such good ideas, Sorn." She hugged her arms, "I'm sure this talk of ours will be the last important thing I ever do."

"Lia," Sorn put a hand on her shoulder, then drew her into the hug he craved. Perhaps the way she'd been standing, they both wanted it? "Beautiful Lia… Have faith."

"Bring me Kael'thas. And then I will believe in… everything. Again."


	8. Syl-van-as

**Note** : I admit to wanting to write a fancy, semi-historical Warcraft drama… This one's brand new! They'll all be new chapters from here on out.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 _Present day, in Pandaria…_

Lady Sylvanas stood in the lush field. It smelled sweet because they were downhill from the bamboo forests and the sky was silvery with fresh rain coming on. It would rain on them, soon. The wind would bring it in fast.

Zachary clawed at a pale white face, mostly a skull now. Half of his jaw had rotted away.

"It's so strange…"

"What, Zachary?"

"How me and mine, and yours… how we don't mind the rain anymore, do we?"

Sylvanas pulled an arrow from the quiver at her belt. She didn't take down her bow. Sylvanas turned halfway to him, inspected her arrow.

"Your arrows get better and better, Zachary."

He tried to smile, "Why should I let you miss, ever again?"

"You hated me once."

"Everyone hates somebody, once. I guess." He shrugged a bony arm, then rolled it back, stretched.

Sylvanas, surprisingly calm, amiable when she was alone with someone, raised the arrow to press her fingernail along the metal tip again. "Do you still hate Arthas, Zachary? Do you ever wonder if… I still do?"

Zachary was silent. Sylvanas walked over to him. Once a Highborne, now a banshee. Somehow, somewhere in there, somebody thought it would be entertaining for her to keep a good, womanly strut. She could have been as rotted away as Zachary was, and the other Undead. But she wasn't. A cruel joke, a loving memento from a past life… Sylvanas didn't tolerate anyone even trying to ask her how it had happened. The men who tried to flirt with her didn't usually last long. You'd have to be out of your mind with love or lust, or just mindless to dare and try it in the first place.

But Zachary knew. He understood her better than anyone.

"Well, what do you think, my War Lion? Zachary X? What are our chances if we stay in this field while another rain comes? If we storm the village Kael'thas and the others are holing up in, then the Pandarens will give the Horde hell. Then again, it's not like they can do anything if I do want to wipe out the place. If I have to…"

"My lady, your servant is comin.' "

Sylvanas was back to formal in a moment. She strode forward, waited. Zachary stalked ahead of her and held out a sword with one knobbly arm. His other hand, in rotting fletcher's glove, kept a knife just beneath his cloak.

"Hey! Announce yourself!"

"We know who she is." Sylvanas spooked Zachary by leaning in, as if to give him a kiss on the cheek as she passed by. It would take Zachary many moments to recover from that.

She smiled at the plump Pandaren woman with a long brown braid who came to them, curtsied.

"Loama." Sylvanas acknowledged her.

"I do not have much time… is Zachary alright?"

"Humans have war dogs. I've kept him so long, he's my war lion. Zachary can take a little teasing. And he's the only one that I'll tease. I hope he appreciates it."

Zachary made a real effort to compose himself.

"My message, then. We have placed them in a room that is easy to hear… hear the voices inside," Loama struggled with her Orcish, "Well, it has eight sides, but if you sit above the room, the sound echoes nicely.

Sylvanas' bewitching smile widened, "Oh, we've got him good, then. I don't know why Kael'thas thinks he can outwit me. In a lot of ways, he's still the angry pencil neck that Dalaran University forgot. I was running the whole show in Quel'thalas while he was practically whining over Jaina Proudmoore, unable to see past any of that." Then, she stopped boasting. It was not a good memory, in the end.

"…Great lady, it is a memory deterioration spell they are concerned about. Is that familiar?"

Zachary shuffled forward. He looked from Loama to Sylvanas a few times.

"Well, say something—"

"Sylvanas… those were the spells invented in Dalaran, for the war with the Plague. The Kirin Tor and Violet Hold used memory deterioration spells to try and disrupt the Lich King's advancement, do you remember? Until…"

"Until Arthas himself became the Lich King." Sylvanas rested a hand on her sword. She thought, rubbed her thumb over the pommel. Her voice turned gentle, truly disturbed, "And why are Kael'thas and his people concerned about this now?"

Loama nodded, "Yes, the Blood Elves are beginning to remember the past. I trust… I trust you will do all that you can, and use this precious information to safeguard Pandaria from the Blood Elves. Perhaps you could convince the high ones to end their neutrality when it comes to someone like Kael'thas and eject him—"

Sylvanas spoke quickly, "What do they remember?"

"Everyone is trying to recall things about… the one Bloodknight who fell at the lei line."

"The Double Sunthraze."

"No, who she means is General Sunthraze," Zachary then bowed his head, apologetic for speaking out of turn, "My lady."

"No. I know exactly who I am talking about, who Loama is referring to, the Double Sunthraze. They wouldn't dare… Liadrin wouldn't dare bring all that back!"

"Have I done well? Is this what you wanted?" Loama asked nervously, "I must return to the shrine before I am suspected, but shall I gather more information like this?" She clasped her brown and white hands together.

Sylvanas turned away from her, walked off on her own.

Zachary fished gold out of his pocket and tried to pay the Pandaren girl. She wouldn't take it at first, but then Zachary gave her even more gold, fussed at her to get on with it. She bowed low, elegantly, then went away fast.

"That bear creature rides on a turtle…"

Sylvanas sank to the ground. She gripped the very green grass with a hand that was pale blue, should have been dead.

Zachary came and stood over her.

"Azeroth cannot know what Arthas and I did, Zachary! That revelation is where Liadrin will ultimately lead them."

"No, my lady. It sounds as if they are trying ta' help the Sunfury General Sunthraze. But that's all."

"They want to remember, but that spell helped everyone else to forget. I was safe. I was so safe. Until now…" she looked up at Zachary. Dark gray tears stained her face.

Zachary, the only gentile inclination he had left in him, was to stand by her. To not leave her.

Sylvanas pulled her hood up. She swaddled the cloak around herself.

After a while, Zachary tried, "Can it really matter to the world, when Arthas is long, long gone? When he's been defeated, time and again." He shouted, it was hard not to have any other emotion, "He is nothing to us now! He can't harm you, not even a memory of him can harm you now. Have courage, Sylvanas, don't you know that you give me courage?"

Sylvanas gave over to crying.

Zachary let his arms hang, with sword and dagger. He should hold her, comfort her. But then he looked around, and decided to just... keep standing guard, for her.

"…We should walk back to join the others, my Lady." Zachary meant the Undead army and the Orcs with their frostwolves. All those warriors now reinforcing their tents and putting up their food and cookfires, before the rains came.

"Sylvanas?"

"And when all of Azeroth learns… that he almost destroyed our world, because he loved me?"

Zachary tried again, his brow knit, "We should get back…"

"What kind of warchief can I be then? Now I am feared and respected. But then they will hate me, and I will be cast out, by all. Everything I've worked for, lost! Because of him and those damned Bloodknights. I should… I will kill that Kael'thas!"

The rain fell. She set her teeth, determined, but in the end, Sylvanas could go no further.

"Oh, Arthas…"

How could Sylvanas not remember? The way things used to be...

 _Stormwind, a lifetime ago..._

 **P** rince Arthas Menethil came to the opened door, reached, then placed his hand on the doorpost. As Sylvanas finished pulling down her ivory camisole, he took another quiet step back, made himself wait a little longer.

What was she? A demoness? An angel? Elves still confused him.

Finally, Arthas couldn't resist any longer, "As beautiful as that and you still manage to wake up in my kingdom alone. Now, just how is that, darlin'?"

Sylvanas had picked up her leather chestpiece next. She was nearly done with putting on her armor. She sucked in a startled breath and turned around, long hunting knife in hand.

Arthas grinned, and he could smile so beautifully, even when his eyes were filled with menace. Well, Sylvanas had heard the Humans call it a mischevious face. Though, with Elves, especially the Highborne, 'mischief' was a word usually reserved for children.

Even while she still pointed the knife at him, Arthas closed the door.

"It's not your kingdom. This is Stormwind, is it not?"

Arthas walked right up to the knife point. He looked down at the silver blade between their bodies. Then, before Arthas could blink again, Sylvanas had reversed the blade and was sheathing it in the green runed scabbard at her side.

"I locked my door, I thought… my prince."

Arthas shrugged one shoudler, "You didn't lock either of your doors, darlin. And I'm certainly not your dork-wad prince."

"Still, it wasn't an invitation."

"Thought I had a… standin' invitation. That's what we call it up here."

Sylvanas let Arthas take her hand. He played with her fingers.

Arthas was… alluring. A word almost never applied to men, but yet it captured him. He was strong, lean. But there was also something wonderful and equally annoying about him. You felt drawn in, to smile with him, to laugh before he made his joke. He was easygoing and peaceful. When he eventually had to be daring it was a delight, since he raised his voice so rarely. And Sylvanas had read his speeches, she'd seen his statues while waiting down in the city before being escorted into the castle to meet him, the real him. But Sylvanas had always been so very sure that the prince of Lordaeron wasn't supposed to sound like… that. 'Darlin' this, and 'darlin' that.

When Sylvanas first arrived in Stormwind, it was Vereesa, her sister, who reassured her. A lot of the Humans sounded 'like that.' This lazy drawl that was also so confident that it achieved a polished quality, in the end. If you were patient with them. Vereesa had warned Sylvanas to be patient with the Humans' way of speaking, their diplomacy… but to have no patience with anything else the Human men wanted from a woman Elf.

Arthas was no exception. One spent a little time around Arthas and felt sure he had once been a charming little boy. And spoiled rotten.

Sylvanas took her hand out of his and finished pulling her chestpiece on, over her head. She fit her arms through and pulled it down so it was tight.

"You don't know when to put your toys away, do you?" She said, and lifted some of her pale, long hair out from beneath her armor. Arthas leaned in and helped.

"I do so. One of 'em is in Dalaran, right now."

"That's… cruel." Sylvanas backed away from him touching her.

Arthas stopped smiling. He sat on the bed. He opened his hands, to say something, anything. But then, he clapped them together, unsure.

"I felt I needed to explain myself, before you left with the others." He pulled at his own fair hair. It was either going white, or was so blonde it was white-gold, silver. "She slept with him, I found out. My friends still in Dalaran got word to me. Jaina slept with Kael'thas."

"No. She wouldn't. And he definitely wouldn't-"

"I think… I think that's why…" it wasn't safe to speak of it, even here. Too much depended on what had happened between them, "Jaina knew what I was going through. How it's been for me. I didn't tell her why I wasn't there at graduation, in that… false world. What does a diploma even mean to me? What the hell does it mean to anyone, now! Look what's going on in the world! But she's upset about a damned dress that I didn't see her in and a damned night that I didn't give her—and damn her! Damn her because it only shows how… how" he breathed, swallowed, "Fun she is."

"Fun?!"

"You got angry with me fast." Arthas looked amused, despite the situation.

"I don't understand Human men, that's all. Your fiancée cheats on you and she's fun."

"Because… Jaina is lovely, and she's lonely and she wanted a man, in the end. I just wasn't there. I do get it. Even if it's becoming a false world, to me, it is a world of peace and stability that she still lives in. An' she expects the people that she loves to be there for her, no matter what. She can't imagine what else would be so terrible, so much more important. But it still hurts." Arthas folded his hands. "I thought I'd feel like I got mine, you know? Like I'd balanced the scales. But baby, I feel no more in control than before. You think a paladin would know, well, that two wrongs don't make a right."

Sylvanas went and leaned on the tall bedpost. She looked sorrowful. "Please don't feel guilty. These things… happen. Don't they?"

"Funny thing is, I underestimated Nerd Boy. I thought that rat was so unappealing she'd never fall so far."

Sylvanas rolled her eyes, folded more things to put in her suitcase.

"You know, Syl-van-as," At times, Arthas liked to slow down her name, like it had a great deal more attitude associated with it than intended, "I always wondered, what does Kael'thas' name even really mean? It always sounded so silly to me. Sorta… girlish."

" 'Kael'. Of that line of the family. 'Ah' and you can't hear that, with your little Human ears, but that is what the apostrophe holds, a breath of awe, because he is from a noble line, and has earned the right, if he wants it. And 'thas' is a masculinization of his mother's name, who was Anthene'alas. Queen Anthene'alas. She was 'the beautiful', 'An', and the bold, 'thene.'"

"Wow a whole history lesson, and I just wanted to know if Kael'thas probably has a girl's name, which it does sound like he has…"

"Kael'thas will be more beautiful and more bold than his mother or any in the line of Kael, which is an old tribal name for Anasterian's line of the Sunstriders. So Kael'thas is to be the most… there isn't a Human word for it. It is not a physical beauty, but more… What is a word for when someone is beautiful within and also on the outside of themselves? A pervasive radiance. Like… hope. I don't think Humans have a word for a person being hope incarnate. But it is something like that. Kael'thas is living hope, the realizer of dreams. He is the dream incarnate of both his parents." Sylvanas smirked, "I don't think 'Arthas' or even 'Arthas Menethil' mean anywhere near the same thing."

Arthas stared at the far wall, considering all that. His face went through a few different bemused then irritated reactions, "…wish I never asked."

"You're jealous of Kael'thas."

"If Jaina marries him, because of some… twisted trick of fate. I'll kill him."

Sylvanas threw a roll of socks into her suitcase with a thump, "And you must have a deathwish, announcing a plan to kill Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider to the Ranger-General's face."

Arthas lay back on the bed and looked up at her, kicked his feet casually.

"Fine. He'll live. But only because you're so adorable, Sylvanas." Arthas pursed his lips for a kiss that Sylvanas arched her eyebrow at.

"Why do you make it sound like showing Kael'thas mercy is such a chore?"

"I mean, he just got laid in what, the first time in his miserable life? And with someone as cute as Jaina—it'd be a total tragedy to kill him now. All the Elf nerds of the world will lose faith."

"We're Highborne. And you're not the first man with a broken heart."

Sylvanas' hair, when unbound, was so long it went down past her back. Arthas batted at it, then pretended he was a cat. He made a pathetic mew at her. When she insisted on ignoring him, he escalated it to a needy tomcat's yowling.

"You! I should use my knife on you again."

"You speak cat. Good." He lay on his side, reached over, and felt her waist.

"Gods, I think I actually mean this," she lay her head back, "Jaina must miss you. I think I can see a girl falling for you. Completely. You're so thoroughly…"

"Handsome?"

"Horrible." Sylvanas smiled a bit. "You're rotten to the core, aren't you? But she tamed you." Sylvanas put down a dress she was folding.

Arthas lay back on the bed and dangled a sleeve of the flimsy blue dress over his face, kissed it.

"And you're still thinking of her, aren't you, Arthas?"

"This is her color. I think Jaina has something like this."

"Fool. Go and marry her, already. Talking about Lady Jaina, even after what she did to you… this is the brightest you have been all morning." Sylvanas retrieved her dress, though Arthas claimed it was his color too and that he wanted it. He tugged at the dress, then let her have it. "…How did Lady Jaina Proudmoore tame you?"

"First of all… that name. That smile. Those hips! Did I go too far yet?"

Sylvanas had folded three more dresses in the time Arthas finished letting his mind wander.

"So. You're madly in love with her."

"She's spell-locked my heart. I told her that many times." Arthas turned over again, cuddled in to watch Sylvanas pack, "This shouldn't be such an easy conversation for you. Maybe we should stop talking about her."

"I'm not offended. I'm getting my packing done, which means soon, sir, I'll be far away from you. And it's just as well," Sylvanas frowned, "apparently, the people are close to rioting on the streets of Silvermoon City because of a man who was arrested unjustly. Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze. Heard of him?"

Arthas looked bored, "Honey, let's just talk about me again. I mean, not in that way, I'm not vain. Just instead of the real world."

"…But then again, the royal house says Lord Sunthraze is a spy. The gentry are also offended because he was—or he was once—one of them. So everyone is crying for me to go and give them… whippings, apparently. Because that's exactly what I intend to do in this situation. There's plenty of blame to go around, and nobody's getting off easy."

"Wait. I noticed you said that twice. Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze."

"It's his actual name. It's a tradition that goes back very far, but double names have a special meaning as well. Another fancy Highborne custom in nomenclature you probably don't like."

"Lady Sylvanas Windrunner…"

Sylvanas then shied away from folding any underwear in front of him. She stuffed a handful into a silk pouch she opened instead. "Yes, Arthas?"

"You're beautiful, and you're talented. You also understand me."

"Ha! Human men all say the same things. Three have said the same thing since I've been here."

"You wouldn't let me finish, Sylvanas. Darlin', I hope there's someone at home, for you. I didn't mean to make things awkward, just now, by talking about Jaina. And I'm so pleased that you've… graced me with your presence. I was at my worst the other night, but I'm sure that you were at your best. I want us… to end as friends."

"And now you know where you stand, with the one you love. And I know that I need to renew my efforts to find a man of my own. Well, who doesn't drive me crazy."

"Jaina loves it when I drive her crazy. And do you know what she really wants me to do? She wants me to ride in on my white charger and steal her off… Or she wants her warrior to come home to her, lay her down… one of those. Whenever I do get back to reality, have a break from fighting back the Plague…"

"Can you take a vacation from something like that?"

"…I think I'll have a plan. I am actually going to read one of those cheesy scenes in one of Jaina's favorite little novels and just act the whole thing out. Even if she tells me to stop. 'Arthaaas! Stop bein' so weird!'" he chuckled, after mimicking Jaina's voice, "It will make her so mad. And also make her so happy."

Sylvanas snapped her suitcase shut. It broke the spell.

"Feel better, your majesty?"

Arthas lay there, quiet.

"Prince Menethil?"

"I want to run away with her, across the sea. And never come back."

Sylvanas bent down and gave him a light kiss on the lips. "Wake up, my prince."

Arthas looked at her. She felt his cheek, "And now I know how you stole her heart."

"We should stop this," He said.

She nodded agreement, "It's all wrong. We we're both just worried about our kingdoms…"

"And you're being very mean to me." His brow knit.

They kissed again.

"Don't you know what it means, if an Elf woman you've slept with is mean to you?" she whispered, then grabbed Arthas and kissed him harder.

They kissed passionately, forgot about her suitcase, the opened doors, everything. Then, they did remember and Sylvanas pushed off of him.

"Whew!" Arthas almost shouted it. "Do you need a man!"

She got her coat, but when she reached for her suitcase, Arthas tutted and picked it up for her. "Least I could do. Anyway, dear, I was joking to lighten the mood. I was not making fun of you in any stretch of the sense.."

Sylvanas grabbed her suitcase. Arthas pulled it back.

He complained, "I'm going to treat correctly for once, dammit, during this visit. Okay?"

Sylvanas yanked the suitcase the other way. He pulled back, snatched it out of her hands, "…Okay, Sylvanas?"

Sylvanas let go, sighed. "Fine. And, I guess it wouldn't hurt to be friends. We may need each other in the future, or our kingdoms will. No hard feelings."

They each stopped blushing so much, and straightened their clothing.

"Please go back to Lady Jaina."

"And you go sleep with everything in Silvermoon that moves. You need some love and attention, Sylvanas."

"Strange for my rival to know that much about me, but I hope it was well meant."

"…Everyone except for me, I guess. Wait, I'll be stuck here in the Eastern Kingdoms anyway, spearing giant maggots, zombies and other Plague-ridden things with my sword." Arthas bowed, opened his arm for her to go first.

They started walking together.

After they left the apartments given to Sylvanas, they walked along a quiet corridor. Most of the other rooms were already empty. Then, a rich voice intruded upon her thoughts again, "What does it mean, Sylvanas, when a Highborne woman is mean to you, you know, after you've slept together?"

"It doesn't matter, and it doesn't apply to you. Stop tempting fate."

He came and walked close beside her, grinning. Arthas then switched the suitcase to his other hand so that he could be even nearer to Sylvanas.

"You're far too upbeat for a man who just got cheated on and then cheated back."

"…Well?"

"Well, does any man ignore a challenge that's set? If he does, he's no good-and that's true of any race… in any kingdom on Azeroth."

"So, uh, the next thing the guy does, he's supposed to… win? Or, dominate you?"

Sylvanas sighed, walked faster.

"…Is that what I'm supposed to do, here?"

"We aren't doing that anymore, Arthas." she lowered her voice, as they came into one of the larger corridors. Other guests were leaving with their luggage and servants. For some reason, Sylvanas' assigned squire was left lingering far behind the Prince of Lordaeron who was so tall and intimidating and wanted to carry her suitcase instead.

Arthas towered over so many other men and looked especially elegant in his black and silver regalia.

"You know," he looked down at her, rubbed his nose with a knuckle. "If Jaina leaves me a quivering wreck after I do make contact with her again… Like if she tries to marry Kael'thas for some ungodly reason and I already promised not to kill him, why don't I marry you in exchange?"

"You're joking."

"I might not be. It'd make an alliance between Silvermoon and Lordaeron. It would force it. There are different kinds of marriages these days, you know."

"While you love another woman!"

"But you are insanely hot, Sylvanas."

"Jaina should slap you for saying that."

"And you."

His boots struck the floor for a few more paces.

"You're just upset. You're flirting with every woman you come across."

"I'm a catch, Sylvanas," Arthas teased.

"You're… in love with another woman!"

"And I can be in hate with her too, if she lets me down. I was raised in the school of hard knocks, by King Terenas Menethil himself—I know about strategy and keeping political stability. If Jaina jilts me, I'm not going to be at a loose end. My name is not going down over that. I am going to marry another woman I find incredibly attractive, fast, and get my kingdom the help that it needs. Now, tell me, would you be in a better position to put pressure on Silvermoon to change for the better while working inside of the corrupt system, or by being the queen of a neighboring kingdom who can squeeze Anasterian by the balls with my say so?"

Sylvanas was shocked to hear all of it spoken so plainly, and in public… but when she looked around, she realized Arthas had led them to a different part of the castle.

"Where are we going?"

"It's quiet. I'm keeping us out of the main halls, away from the spies… I want you to answer me. Sylvanas, would you marry me if I could make you a decent proposal, under the conditions I described?" That he was trying to get them privacy proved how serious he was getting.

She scoffed, "If Jaina dumps you, and then you can fall back on me?"

"We already did that, the fall back part. I'm talking about going for more."

"You're disgusting."

"You love it."

"… Do you always make such serious plans so fast?"

"Darlin, I can think on my feet in a battle and everywhere else. Why is it so easy to believe that the Highborne royal court is full of schemers and philanderers, but the Humans aren't also capable of being overly ambitious? I'm not going to let Jaina make a fool of me."

"You're not making a good case for your race, or your intentions. Anyways, the sex wasn't _that_ great, Arthas." She tried to joke.

"Maybe I am a bit out of my head… I've never slept with an Elf girl before. And I'm clearly upset about what might happen with… with her…" Arthas stopped them walking. He put down Sylvanas' suitcase and faced her.

"But you still don't really want me." Then, she managed to admit, "And I've worked hard all my life for my success… All I've ever wanted was a man, a partner, who wants me as much as I want him. And who understands what I'm trying to do. I might lose everything if I make such a bold marriage. What if they lose all trust in me for acting so selfishly?"

Arthas squeezed her arm, then took her hand. He glanced up and noticed they were standing in front of a stained glass window. A ship caught in a storm. But a beam of Light came down from the sun above to guide it through curling waves, "And I wanted the same thing, from a woman. Now, I may lose it all, Sylvanas."

He took a large step closer to her. "It's true that Jaina… feels like everything to me at times. But she's also a silly person who can't keep her head in it when there's… when there's a crisis! People are dying. Am I supposed to go to graduation, then? Spend the night with her? I have a damn life, and you see how my father is—what he's incapable of. This whole convocation was a waste of time at best, but you and I finally having real conversations, a real… connection, I think, that is the only good thing that's come out of it. You are a military force to be reckoned with. So am I! You want the Plague ended, badly, almost at any cost. I would do the same. Yes, it would be a marriage of convenience, but we will be two warriors forcing the world to heel! And isn't it about damned time?" he shouted at the end.

Sylvanas grabbed Arthas, kissed him. She said, to keep him quiet. Then, she smiled, "You fool…"

Arthas held her, "Think about it. We could both do so much good together. If she doesn't want me, because I have so much work to do… why not be practical and side with a woman who is doing the same work? I kind of… I kind of want to chase you around, Sylvanas, and catch you. And not feel guilty about that. Is that terrible? I want to hunt you."

She looked him in the eye, "I will be the doe in the clearing."

Arthas slowed touching her, took in a large breath, "My father will kill me."

"King Anasterian would end me."

Then, both of their serious looks turned to smiles. They hugged and laughed at each other.

"But for now…" Sylvanas leaned back from his embrace, "Please, talk to her. Find out where you stand. Wasting a woman's time is so, so evil, Arthas."

Sylvanas nestled into his chest, "And I will think of all those Thalassian military secrets, going straight to the Humans King Anasterian so hates. The Humans whom I wish to help so much. Yes, that is a clever way to get the assistance you all need, immediately. I admire you for seeing it."

Arthas was obviously thinking about Jaina, then.

Then, he said, "Will you give me a lock of your hair?"

She looked down. She'd forgotten to brush or braid it. "By the Sun, I must look like a Night Elf right now. How awful."

Arthas reached behind her ear, enjoyed taking a long tress. He flicked up the ends, looped them around his finger, then realized he didn't have his knife handy. Sylvanas offered her ranger's hunting knife.

Arthas smirked, feeling jealous, "I really like this knife."

He sliced her hair free.

"…Keep the knife."

"I can't do that, Sylvanas." But then Sylvanas stepped in, felt up his stomach, his chest, "Well. Not unless I give you something in exchange…"

Arthas felt down his sides, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a coin. "Ha! There's my face, on the side. Pretty cool, huh?"

"But it's almost like you buying my very good ranger's knife for less than a silver coin, Arthas."

"Uppity Elf women…" He winced, reached into his other pocket. "Oh. Here. It's a soul shard."

Sylvanas took it. She held it in both hands.

"A warlock made it for me while we were out in the Plaguelands. Anyone who knows me can tell that's a piece of me. If anything happens, now, we can each prove that we… made a pledge to each other. I could not have stolen this fine knife from you, and you can't have taken this soul shard from me without… me letting you get so close."

Arthas took the soul shard from Sylvanas and put it safely in her coat pocket. He then leaned down and fit Sylvanas' knife into his own boot.

"So, little lady… you done checking me out yet while I'm bending over? Are we ready to shake on this?"

Sylvanas let Arthas take her hand once more.

"Well," she said, "I win either way. To have this lovely memory of you. Whatever happens. I do think it's sort of a mad plan."

Arthas kissed her fingers.

"Well… back to the hell that is our lives," He sighed.

Sylvanas looked at him slyly. "I just realized something. Right now… you're my undu'diel."

"Huh? What's that mean?"

"It means… maybe it'll work out. Maybe, after we help each other out of this situation and get into a new one… we could be very, very happy together someday." She then whispered, "I am glad we slept together. How could I not be?"

Arthas was not able to say that. He couldn't. He brought her hands to his chest, letting her feel his heartbeat.

"…Let's go."

They came to the throne room. Many honored guests were leaving, all shaking hands with the mages, councilors and nobility there to help King Varian Wrynn and King Terenas Menethil. Most of the Easern Kingdoms were represented by their sovereigns, except for King Anasterian. Sylvanas approached the throne, aware that she was now meant to represent all of Quel'thalas, carry all that on her shoulders without Anasterian. Some eyes were doubtful, judgmental. Then, more laughter than was appropriate began to follow Sylvanas around as she approached the next line to say farewell to King Terenas. Sylvanas eventually checked her uniform to see that it was all in order. Surely, the Humans weren't so inane to laugh at an Elf in their presence for no reason.

But it was Arthas. He was standing politely in line behind the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, to receive his own father. He'd been following Sylvanas around like a puppy for a while.

"Hello Sylvanas…" Arthas started whispering to her.

"Will you leave me alone, Arthas? This isn't some… play time!"

Then, Sylvanas was announced and Terenas beckoned her toward him.

"Ranger-General. We were honored to have you. We hope that our words and actions here can sway your people, and my longtime friend, Anasterian, toward an even stronger alliance against the Plague."

Arthas walked around to stand by his father. Terenas cast an annoyed look elsewhere. Arthas then addressed the Highborne woman himself.

"Ranger-General Sylvanas. Stormwind needs your answer, and your king's… before the end of the month. And then I want his armies. Or, I want you. One or the other."

People made shocked noises.

"You don't speak sense an' you don't speak for anyone, Arthas!"

Arthas ignored his father, the king.

Terenas stood from his chair angrily.

Sylvanas bowed to them both, before the argument could escalate. "Your majesties… of course I will try and satisfy you both. If that is even mortally possible for one woman to do."

Arthas liked that answer. And it sufficiently distracted his father as well.

"Good bye, my lady," Arthas bowed at the waist.

Sylvanas curtsied and walked to meet her sister at the blue portal back to Silvermoon. She felt Arthas' eyes watching her, acutely. Then, she heard Arthas' father.

"Where's Jaina? Have you spoken to her lately?" Terenas chided his son.

"Once you go Elf…" Arthas said, and he must have smiled.

Sylvanas hoped that she wasn't actually blushing as much as she felt.

Terenas finally nudged his son to stop embarrassing them both.

Vereesa opened her arms to her sister and gave Sylvanas a firm hug. Then, Vereesa whispered in her sister's ear, "Human men are so easy, aren't they?"

"Ah, I wouldn't know…"

"But trust me, it stops being adorable in about a month, so you're leaving at the perfect time."

"Funny. That priest, Fennore, before I sent him, he warned me our own people would get sick of him in about three weeks or so. But that's not about it working both ways, is it? I mean, he's already a Highborne."

Vereesa kind of growled at the back of her throat and pinched the bridge of her nose. She spoke through clenched teeth, "If only they'd keep him forever…"

"But sister, in all seriousness, I just… Well, I'm afraid that I… issel maku du diel, lap tha'alan—"

Vereesa shook her head. "So many of the high ones here speak at least enough of our language to understand the words 'royal', 'marriage'… and they certainly know the phrase for, 'to break up.' Shh… It's better not to whisper that way and make them even more suspicious." She looked her sister in the eye.

Sylvanas glanced back to Arthas again. His father was receiving more departing guests. He was still looking at her. Sylvanas felt sure that this time, he was watching her body.

"Sylvanas… what did you do?"

"I don't know why you always talk to me like I'm the bad sister."

"You weren't talking about him and Jaina. You were talking about him and yourself!? How?" then, Vereesa swore, "I'll go have a talk with him."

"No! It's fine, really. I asked him to go back to her, so everything is perfectly fine. I promise."

"Sylvanas, I thought I already warned you about Human men."

"You warned me about Human men, not Arthas. He's… somehow, amazing."

"I'm warning you now, the prince can be very determined. And…"

"Manipulative? Selfish and cruel? I hear Kael'thas can be."

"…And desperate. Where did you hear that about poor Prince Kael'thas?"

She read ahead, maybe.

Vereesa gave Sylvanas a final hug, "Walk in the sun, sister. I know you will make the ones in Silvermoon see us again soon. And…" Vereesa swallowed, "Whatever Terenas says, Arthas is really the one—" she couldn't say, "He's right that we really do only have one month, before it will all be too late. And then, Arthas, myself and the others, we'll have to try our other plan."

"What other plan?"

"It's nothing to worry about, now. It may never come to pass. But several armies are needed to repel the Plauge and its minions, not just the Human ones. We Highborne are essential. So, please… do everything that you can. And on my side, here, I will also do everything I can, to help the Humans."

Vereesa was taller than Sylvanas. Vereesa looked every bit of a mature warrior with every breeze and sunbeam spiraling around her head and ears. Her white owl, T'libit, was sitting up in the rafters, Sylvanas noticed then. It blinked large yellow eyes at her, bobbed its head up.

"Good bye, T'libit!" Sylvanas waved gently and smiled.

The owl hooting impatiently for a treat, it was the last thing Sylvanas heard before she walked through the blue portal.

Still, she felt Arthas' hungry eyes on her. His soul shard hummed pleasantly in her pocket.

 **P** yorin jogged up to Tempest and Britecleff who were assembled in the Sunspire throne room with the other Farstriders, Magisters, and the other forces Sylvanas commanded for the kingdom.

"She's late. You're later."

"Did I miss her?"

"No. Obviously, or we wouldn't all still be standing here." Tempest crossed her arms.

Pyorin smiled at Tempest, hopeful. "You're still talking to me?" He weaved past Britecleff in his officer's uniform, medals and cape, then kissed Tempest. It didn't have much affect though.

"I am so sorry…" he lowered his voice, "That I spoke to you like that. The other day."

"Oh, it's fine, Pyorin. I just decided not to take you seriously anymore until you take me seriously. Until you untangle yourself from all those… painted on sluts in the royal court, then I'm going to go have my own fun."

"That's not going to fix anything, revenge. How do I just… walk away from Queen Celestia? I can't. I'm…" Pyorin then realized he couldn't say, "I'm in too deep."

"Ugh…" Tempest walked away from him.

Britecleff gave Pyorin a look.

"Oh, and commander—before I forget… I tried to avoid it, really I did, but you have a pistol duel with King Anasterian next week."

"I… what?!"

"Not a duel… I mean… uh… it's a competition. Like, shooting clay disks and stuff. The whole court will be there."

"You numbskull—one of those things means I'm shooting at the king and might be tried for regicide if I don't let him kill me first."

"Sorry. I was with Celestia, and then Anasterian wanted to talk with me—which is unusual for him-then I said you were an excellent shot because he was making me nervous and I didn't want to talk about myself, and then saying you'd come was the only way I could get away, so… yeah. Sorry I was late."

"Next, you'll be telling me your puppy fell down a well, too." Britecleff motioned for Pyorin to get in line with the others.

The truth was, at these kinds of gathering, Clerk Blaize didn't really have anything real to do. He was about setting things up, moving things on to the next person whose job it was. A middle man. At the moment, all the Farstriders were assembled, and all they needed was for Sylvanas to arrive. So Blaize eventually passed by the window, and was able to idle there with nobody really watching him and enjoy doing absolutely nothing for a time. Doing nothing… in pristine moments like these, when Blaize had arranged for everything perfectly, and everyone was in their place, fully under his control, Blaize was totally free, and nobody could touch him or tell him no. He smiled at the average peons outside the palace window and reveled in that feeling, being so high up.

The street was crowded with people who were shouting and pressing against the gates and guards. Protests like this had been going on for the last couple of weekends, so Blaize wasn't surprised to see the common rabble at it again. Their voices were muted by the magical rose-colored windows of course, but their signs, 'Free Sunthraze', 'Sunthrazes Matter,' 'Sunthraze is My Son Too', and inevitably, 'Double Sunthraze or Nothing' made Blaize shake his head.

"What's all that?"

Blaize looked up at the woman speaking to him. She wore her red hair cut short, was tall for a Highborne and she was very beautiful. Blaize's own hair was redder than most. The rose-colored light coming from the window ignited every accent of his armor and his blood red hair helped the affect.

"Ranger Tempest, good to see you again. My lady, I always meant to tell you—"

She frowned at him, "It's sir. Or ma'am… I was just promoted. You handled the paperwork, you should know."

Blaize folded hands behind his back instead of say what he really wanted, and upset her further. After some careful thought, "Think their arguments have merit?"

"I'm not sure what they're trying to say. Don't all people's… lives matter?"

"I think the context is that a lot of people—well, us, in this situation, the Farstriders—are already acting like some lives don't matter. And so, now they're telling us to cut it out. To… treat Sunthraze and all men like him, as justly as everyone else. In a strange way, everyone's saying the same thing. People who think like you do, and them."

"What other men are like him? All the men who get arrested for punching an officer? Well, even if it was kind of an extreme situation. One that I'm not authorized to talk about." Tempest placed a gloved hand on the window, leaned in to see more.

"The men who get lost in our system of justice."

"Sunthraze isn't lost—"

"Has he seen a trial? Has he gone before a judge? Have they contacted his family or a barrister, or anything like that? And Advisor Sorn is livid, he won't release him or condemn him, so the king's own man is stuck."

"It sounds like you agree with the protesters."

"Tempest." Blaize turned to her. "I process people exactly like Sunthraze all the time. I know, for a fact, that men get lost and serve time for no good reason. That they end up in jail for years because someone higher up is trying to save face over some… clerical error or a bad day when they had a temper tantrum and sent somebody someplace that they shouldn't have. The ones who can afford barristers can get off easily, because they, or their barristers, have connections with the people who have the power. Everyone else gets stuck. It's that simple."

"I see."

"Well, I didn't say I agreed with them. They should all go get jobs so they can afford to pay for their own barristers if they know how badly the system is slanted against poor people." Blaize almost spat out the last of that, then gestured angrily, "And stop wasting time swelling up the streets all day with their foolishness."

"But you just said… Wait, you justified everything that they're out there protesting about. I'm afraid it makes a lot of sense."

"It's not my problem. Sunthraze isn't my son, it doesn't affect me… regardless of what it says on those signs." Blaize smiled at his clever joke.

Tempest rolled her eyes and left. And this left Blaize looking for another victim.

"…Ah, Britecleff. Are all your little ducklings in a row, today? Did I miss anyone on the roster?"

Britecleff nodded a brief hello to Blaize, "No, you've done a perfect job as always, Clerk Blaize."

"I hear that the noise outside is all your fault."

"Not on paper, it isn't. You know that better than anyone. And am I responsible for how people feel? I'm sure they have a right to feel…" Britecleff shook his head, unable to find the words, "However they must feel. They've had their life experiences, and they will do whatever they think they need to do to make things better. Silvermoon is one city for one people, so if there's disagreement between us, then good. A discussion with different perspectives at the table is bound to yield some improvement."

"How noble of you. That's admirable. One people… not haves and have-nots, some people deserving what they get and others keeping what they earned?"

"The Highborne are one people. Not a bunch of wolves and lambs trying to play together. We shouldn't act like our own enemies. Though men like you might like to forget that—"

"You do know that Advisor Sorn complained to Sylvanas about it."

No. Britecleff hadn't heard about that yet. He let out a calming breath, "Well, I guess that was coming to me."

"I filed the complaint. And then, I filed my own complaint, against you, to Sylvanas."

"What the hell, Blaize."

"You botching everything up is causing me, and the other clerks, a lot of extra paperwork. First, he's on the books, then he isn't because you want to talk to him first. Then he's a spy. Then he's being transferred from the Garrison to the keep, here at the Sunspire. Then, he's being interrogated, then Queen Celestia wants to talk with him…"

"Hold on. Celestia summoned Sunthraze?"

"That's a bit hard to say. Try saying it three more times."

"Shut up, Blaize. Answer my question. And how do you even know about this, if it's palace business?"

Blaize smiled, because he'd finally got to the other man. "All I do is file the papers. All I know is that she gave the orders and the bill ultimately went to the Garrison, which amused me. So it was a Farstrider working for the queen who summoned Sunthraze, and not one of her servants."

Britecleff's eyes lost focus as he looked above their heads, mind racing with possible connections.

"I could tell you which Farstrider decided to have a private audience with Sunthraze, before he was interrogated by Sorn the third time, and before Sunthraze changed his story, according to the record… if I'm properly motivated."

Britecleff scowled, "I think I have some idea. And did you know, you sound like a prostitute when you sashay about, peddling your services like that? I should lock you up for soliciting."

"You know, I was going to have your job. I could have had it, too-"

"And then you didn't get my job. Because you're not a better soldier than I am. And those other two times you got passed over for promotion before you decided go give up and be a clerk."

Blaize made a fist, pointed at Britecleff, just pointed. Then, he huffed and angrily went away.

Tempest came back, pursued by a near breathless Pyorin, "Will you just… slow down and listen to me?"

"Pyorin…"

Tempest flared, "I'm not interested in your excuses! Why can't you get that through your thick skull? And aren't we supposed to be working?"

"Tempest, will you please…"

Britecleff was the youngest of his rank, and some days it felt like he still had a lot to prove. The other men in his position were waiting with their recruits, all mostly in order, quietly chatting. Britecleff's area was beginning to look a lot like recess at kindergarten.

Britecleff flared, "Will you guys settle down!"

The trumpets sounded. The drumming began. Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner was announced and it echoed through the hall.

"Attention!"

Long lines of Highborne Farstriders and Magisters snapped to attention, fists to chests. Now that she was back among her own Sylvanas was in full armor, bow in hand, drifting gold cape. Any semblance of the woman enjoying downtime in another kingdom, or gossiping with her sister was gone.

Tempest shoved Pyorin for being so close to her. Pyorin was calm for half a moment before she shoved him again, and he fell on the floor, out of line.

"I swear to the Sun itself—will you two just shag and get it over with?! I'm tired of dealing with this!"

And of course, Sylvanas chose that moment to stroll by their section, eyes wide, and flanked by all his commanding officers. Thankfully, they kept going, but Britecleff's boss, Seargant Major Windemere, a usually fatherly-looking man with white bushy eyebrows and a beard, was suddenly very cross, red-faced, and dragging a finger across his neck to mime a slit throat.

When they were gone, Britecleff slowly turned angry eyes on Tempest and Pyorin, "Could you two possibly be the most incompetent Farstriders in existence?"

Advisor Sorn marched by next, looking furious with Britecleff. "Ranger-General Sylvanas!" he flagged her down before she went into the meeting room.

It was against ceremony, certainly, but the king's closest advisor could manage something like that.

Britecleff cussed to himself, "…Shit."

Clerk Blaize took the chance and ran over to the huddle with Sorn too, uninvited. Being clerical, he was potentially needed in every situation when Sylvanas and all her high officers were discussing something involving the military.

Britecleff set his teeth.

"Ho boy…" went Tempest.

"Commander, this doesn't look good for you at all."

Several looks went in Britecleff's direction.

"Well. It was a nice life while I lived it. Tell Lady Daphne… I'm glad she's leaving me so untouched, to finally die a virgin…"

"Uh… you're not a virgin, Commander." Pyorin narrowed eyes at him.

Britecleff's frown deepened, he muttered, "But she makes me feel like it…"

Tempest snorted laughter.

Sylvanas' emerald gloved raised, above the heads of Halduron Brightwing, Lorth'remar, Windemere, Blaize, and so many others. Sylvanas made eye contact with Britecleff, and beckoned.

Later, Sylvanas sat behind a desk in a spare office. "Spare", in the Sunspire, did not mean sparse or insignificant in any way. It was just less filled with carved marble and glittering chandeliers than the office Sylvanas normally used. Her other high-ranking officers waited for her there.

Sylvanas did not gesture for Sorn or for Britecleff to sit.

She folded her hands on the desk.

"A man, who is neither innocent, nor guilty, is currently making his home in the Sunspire Keep."

Neither Sorn nor Britecleff responded to this. They were both far too clever to do so.

"Can we make him so? One way or the other?"

"Doesn't his… actual standing come into it?" Britecleff worried.

"That depends. What is the evidence? What evidence do either of you have?"

Sorn became impatient, "I have a confession. So let's take it from there."

"Great. Let's see that signed confession." Sylvanas opened her hand, waited. She could be very intimidating in her own way. She hated to be dictated to, or rushed. Sylvanas was not a woman to mess with.

"Well, then." Sylvanas slowly curled each finger back into a fist. "We have nothing. Because Britecleff is also too afraid to go over what I already know about Lord Sunthraze. The only thing I care about right now, is that the people's faith in the Farstriders has been rocked. We cannot police or protect the very people who distrust us. Can we?"

Neither man answered.

"And I don't care what class they are, this is still an important issue."

Sorn began to say something in objection to that.

"Sorn—if this were a trial of some kind, class difference may make a difference, but right now, as the signs say, 'Sunthrazes Matter.' And speaking of hearings, the same man involved in the king's inquest, Barrister Lord Mageblade, who's so set to prove other nobles are regularly mistreated by the Sunstriders, just a few hours ago announced an offer to represent Sunthraze at his upcoming trial, saying it was a classic case of abuse by the military with no evidence to support any claim that Sunthraze is a spy or a menace to society. Halduron told me that. Lord Mageblade says that Sunthraze was a man at the wrong place, at the wrong time and we-we the Farstriders, and the royal Sunspire guard-we all mishandled it." Sylvanas stood, "And now, I have Clerk Blaize telling me that the queen herself was speaking to Sunthraze, so just how high up does this have to go before you two blockheads can set aside your pride, free the boy, and get back to work!"

Britecleff and Sorn both had an argument against what they were being accused of.

Sylvanas swept a hand in the air, "I don't have time for this! And as Thrall famously declares these days, I did not ask for this! Did I?"

"No, Ranger-General."

"No, my lady."

"Now. Who wants to release him? Someone's group has got to take the blame… you two sort it out among yourselves. Today."

Sorn got in Britecleff's way, as he headed toward the door, "My lady, the other matter…"

"Of course." Sylvanas sat again, then invited them both to sit as well. "Britecleff, I've been so perplexed by this other matter, I almost forgot about Sorn's emergency… there is a situation with Prince Kael'thas, and his mother's ring. Lady Jaina Proudmoore has it, don't ask me why, or how."

Britecleff got a sense Sylvanas was bluffing about that, in some way. She looked down, the way many people do when they're caught lying.

"Anyway, Sorn has a new letter from Lady Jaina, which reveals this has become a very sensitive matter, too sensitive for the king, in fact, and the queen—it could rip us out of the Alliance and we can't risk that. They will be informed, obviously, once we make good progress." Sylvanas turned to the older man in front of her, "Sorn, Britecleff makes good progress."

"Excuse me? My lady?"

"He is very good at recruiting new officers, he deals with our youngest Farstriders. Britecleff is very in touch with what youth go through these days, he deals with young men and women Prince Kael'thas' age all the time. He gets real results out of them. You say you've been… advised to gather a group of respectful young people to go and bring Kael'thas home, and safely. Remove him from Jaina's presence for the time being. Those people would have to be trained Farstriders, and young enough to get the situation, correct? So then, they would have to be chosen and supervised by our best recruitment officer."

"Like his two flying monkeys out there? The very ones who… colluded to have Lord Sunthraze arrested for treason in the first place?"

"Hey! You gave that order, not me."

Sylvanas folded her hands again, waited for the two men to quiet down.

Then, she said, "Work together."

Britecleff sneered, "He's an animal, I don't care whose advisor he is—I won't play by his rules, or this can't happen."

"How dare you—"

"Fine. We play by Britecleff's rules. But, when it comes time to… clean this up for the royal family to hear about our results, we play by Sorn's rules. Fair?"

Both men nodded.

"Now, can you assure me that someone, within the hour, will have a statement ready for the papers and have that Sunthraze boy back out on his Hawkstrider ranch… shoveling hay or whatever he's supposed to be doing instead of stirring up our entire civilization by his mere presence? I knew there were some administrative issues at the Garrison, that we will continue work to resolve, but this man who both the lower classes and the higher classes identify with, this whole situation is exposing us completely. I suppose in some ways, it was only a matter of time."

"Ranger-General… I think I might be able to kill two birds with one stone. So to speak."

Sorn folded hands over his ledger book. "This should be good. Well, go on. Hang yourself with your evident incompetence. You can't have thought of a solution, a real one, this fast."

"You'll never go and just… drag someone like Kael'thas out of Dalaran. Anasterian wouldn't even try that. We have to get Kael'thas to come to us. We need someone who is already, or who can become Kael'thas' friend, to tempt him out. Not to make it sound so…"

"Like bait." Sylvanas clarified.

Sorn wondered, "An infiltrator? In Dalaran? Well, mostly anyone we might possibly use has graduated and gone home already. And most of them are Humans, who don't appreciate our prince, I have to admit."

"No." Britecleff leaned in, "One man. Two names."

"Oh gods, not him—"

"The double Sunthraze." Sylanas smiled.

"I know my military history. I know that boy is supposed to be one of us, but he isn't… I wanted to work on him anyway. And… there are other reasons, Sylvanas."

Sorn objected, "I want to hear all of them, because, as I said, I have it on good authority that Sunthraze is a spy!"

"So? We make him a double agent. He's turned once, we'll just turn him again. It's almost easier to recruit a spy that way." Sylvanas shrugged, "And at that, I've read the charges, they're pretty flimsy, as I already warned both of you."

"Sunthraze already has a connection to the Sunstriders. Second, he has every right to be in the Farstriders, like I said—and more than that, Sylvanas… I'm almost totally sure he's a little obsessed with Kael'thas at the moment. A few accounts, from my own soldiers who have watched him very closely all this time—two who were recently promoted, even…"

Sorn rolled his eyes, "Oh come on. We all know who you're talking about. And I'm interested to know how they both got promoted in the middle of this mess."

"…Kael'thas is Sunthraze's undu'diel. And I really think Sunthraze believes it."

Sorn was astounded, "What nonsense is this? I can't believe I'm hearing this. That is an old and completely bankrupt concept as far as I'm concerned! That's practically from the time of Dath'remar!"

Sylvanas smiled at Britecleff, "It's effective when implemented well, and the Farstriders have done it successfully before. In fact… I, myself, am making good use of it now. In another matter."

Sorn got up and went to the door. "I can see this is the best deal I'll get out of the Farstriders, and I don't have any more time to waste when you all clearly have your own agenda… I am going to write up a release contract that ties Sunthraze up so tight he can't betray us even if we ask him to do it… I hope you both know what you're taking on. Two kingdoms depend on it! And if the Humans ever hear this is how we went about it… I will be personally pointing vengeful Prince Arthas Menethil himself in your direction, Britecleff!"

Sorn then left.

Sylvanas came around the desk on her way out. "Do you think… we might possibly encourage an engagement between Kael'thas and Jaina? I mean, if that's what the prince wants most of all, and then we do need a firm alliance with the Humans. You could include that. In your work?

"But I thought the objective was to get Kael'thas and Jaina apart."

"Yes, at first, I did think the solution might be to separate the two of them as Sorn suggested. But, between the two of us, Britecleff… if we let nature take its course and we let those two, you know… Helped him keep things together? It seems cruel to break them apart just because 'Sorn says.' You may need to bait them both out of Dalaran, together anyway, I mean. Kael'thas wouldn't come out so easily without her."

"I… I suppose I can see that." But Britecleff was studying Sylvanas again. Her eyes, mostly.

Sylvanas reached in and shook Britecleff's hand briskly, "Anway, well done."

"Please congratulate yourself. I thank you for accepting my idea. A lot of experienced officers don't take me so seriously."

"… Oh, I do congratulate myself on always arranging things so well. I do."


	9. Sunthraze matters sort of

**Chapter Eight: Sunthraze matters… sort of**

 **Note** : I'm pretty sure I'm going to re-write the intro with an action scene featuring where the Bloodknights are now, before looking into the past. Look forward to it!

* * *

Ranger-General Sylvanas walked to the podium, even as the people shouted their disapproval. There were some cheers, yes. That was because word Sylvanas was responsible for releasing the "Double Sunthraze" was spreading. The man crossed twice, first at the Garrison for defending his own land, and second, at the Sunspire Keep. Sunthraze had been accused of being a spy and held there for weeks when he was so obviously innocent. And there were many more rumors as to how it had even happened it the first place. Some vengeful, underpaid royal advisor? A presumed family vendetta held by the Sunstriders against the Sunthrazes, whoever they were? As far as anyone knew, commoner or aristocrat, the Sunthtrazes had been evicted from court ages ago, probably. In the end, on King Anasterian's orders (but everyone knew it could have only been after Sylvanas strongly and vehemently suggested it to him), Sylvanas was finally going to address the people and set the record straight.

Sylvanas stood at the head of the long rampart decorated in crimson and gold bunting for Prince Kael'thas' graduation victory over the Humans in Dalaran, and his much anticipated return to his Highborne home. The long stone ramp was also flanked by royal guardians holding high their man-sized phoenix shields. If all that radiated out into a jaded citizenry, exhausted consternation on their faces, then Sylvanas was the very star shining in their eyes, forcing them to face what was real, what was still so possible about Silvermoon: together, king or servant, high, low, poor, all furious, they were the phoenix. Falling together at times, but also rising up again together. That was as beautiful as Sylvanas decided to be.

She wore gleaming silver ceremonial armor, decorated with gold. Sylvanas then reached for the podium with one hand and took her hood down with the other. She needed to be seen, all of her body, every facial expression. And she would stand in the blinding sun as well in order to do that, fine. This was a speech the whole of the Eastern Kingdoms would also hear, she knew. Prince Arthas with them. He was about to see her name, depictions of her body in every single newspaper. Good. _Take that image with you to Jaina, if you even can…_

At home, in her element, with full support of the royal family and at her best like this, Sylvanas was undeniably glamorous. It was not just her confidence in all that she had accomplished in Quel'thalas, especially in Silvermoon City. It was how she could style herself while free of the Humans and their scrutinizing political machine, often bent against 'the high airs of the Highborne.' Today, Sylvanas wore diamonds for… him… that she could never wear in Stormwind without being accused of making light of the current crisis with the Plague. However, in Quel'thalas, diamonds were known as the Sun's gift to Her followers so that they might know Her glorious blessing of merciful Light no matter the weather, no matter the hour. Around Sylvanas' neck, a gold collar dropped a ruby pendant above her cleavage. Gold, and rubies, these both evoked the fiery courage of mother Sun. And as Sylvanas breathed, she sweated lightly, and she made no attempt to wipe it away, as if she was no different than any brave, oiled sacrifice in the ancient cult. Or, the Sun's greatest priestess—the educated would recognize the diamonds, gold, the ruby, the sweat, all those powerful symbols, and the ignorant could never miss it. This day, this very hour, it was hers. And it was soon going to be her sun.

Her sun. The Sun had been calling her… No, Sylvanas had really known it while in Stormwind at the convocation, while she lay in his arms, on that night. That the Sun and stars had been calling to her. Back in Stormwind, it had only been Arthas' suggestion. Perhaps he was even angry, and halfway meant it. And so she had only halfway pledged herself to such a fast, foolish romantic offer, perhaps… But now, it seemed very intelligent and practical, indeed. A real possibility. A union between the heir to the land on the very Thalassian border that she herself protected and knew intimately. So Sylvanas would show Arthas how capable, how wonderful she could be as an equal, a strategist, his queen. Today, Sylvanas would practice. And he would know she was doing it, for him. Even if she couldn't write him or really say what was forbidden, what could easily be spied upon and handed over to enemies in Silvermoon.

It was a chance, a destiny with him, the prince of Lordaeron, that was too good to miss. Sylvanas decided that she would be a fool not to summon down every Highborne blessing, protect against every Human superstition, while she made her move now and she claimed it!

The rumors of Sylvanas' beauty on this day, her beauty in this moment, her capacity to be so very much more than just the Ranger-General to the Highborne, and to the Humans, their neighbors who were suffering and needed so much help if only she could give it… that she was the better woman than so-called 'Princess Jaina', that message would go on for miles, wouldn't it? Put Jaina out of the papers, lift up Sylvanas, and send it across all the Eastern Kingdoms!

Oh yes, even… to him.

Sylvanas gathered her racing, and she admitted to herself, very jealous thoughts, then exhaled. This speech was going to be about right and wrong in Silvermoon, yes, but Sylvanas also intended it to be a sort of… opened love letter. She looked up, full of guile. More than ready.

"I am Sylvanas," she began. She did hear their jeers raising up again, despite how she tried to appear to them. Sylvanas decided to go on and feed into it, "I am not Anasterian," now they really indulged in how they felt about their king, cussing and shouting "I am not Thrall…"

That perhaps sealed it. The Highborne, like many of the Alliance, had heard of Thrall's exploits just beginning in Kalimdor across the sea. They practically crowed at the thought of the green Orc shaman.

"…I am not Vol'jin."

And they surely screamed about that, the high chief of the meddlesome Trolls.

Now some names they might not hate, "I am not King Terenas, or King Wrynn, or even… the mighty," she smoothed hand up the wooden side of the podium, "Prince Arthas Menethil. No, ladies, and gentlemen. People of Silvermoon. I am Sylvanas."

Then, she raised her voice, "I am a daughter of this enchanted land. I was raised, drinking from a glistening river that so many of you also drank from. So many diamonds down our throats… I breathe air simmering with arcane energy. My gaze is always lifted by the golden slice ever on the ruby horizon, our Sunwell. My muscles were made strong drawing bows hewn by all our ancestors, to fight and protect all of us, every Highborne man, woman, and child—my pain is your pain."

They had been cheering for all these patriotic things. You see, she had brought them around. She embodied it fully. Now, hush. They could not tell what she was going to do after that.

Sylvanas outstretched her arms, hung back from the podium some, "My blood, it is your blood too, brothers and sisters. Your Sunthraze…"

She let them shout his name, wave their signs, make their oaths against the Sunstriders, the Farstriders, the Sunspire itself and all who had put him down.

"Your Sunthraze, is my Sunthraze. And he matters today, he matters tomorrow… I shall never forget him!"

They screamed their approval.

When it ebbed enough, "And who can forget a handsome guy like that anyway? No. Never again."

Some shocked laughter. Again, waiting…

"I promise you, my people, that I will hound the Farstriders until they are better and never treat a prisoner like that again…"

It was during this time that the prison carriage was deployed from the back entrance of the keep. The crowds were mostly cleared from those roads.

"I will do everything that I can for Quel'thalas, from the edge of the Sunwell, to the brink of Eversong and the Human lands, especially at this time…"

More cheering. The ones who were confused or objected to the mention of the Plague were swallowed up by the ones so focused on beautiful Sylvanas and her beautiful words.

While in the carriage, Sunthraze saw all the people, their backs to them, facing the steps of the Sunspire, the bunting and podium set up very fast for Sylvanas' great moment. He saw the signs with his name on them, for the first time. There were so many.

"And at last I promise you—you have my word as the Ranger-General—that a new era of peace and prosperity is coming to all in this land, if I have to watch over it with bow drawn, reign over it myself. Let me and my strengthened Farstriders continue to protect you and our borders, and I promise, this is what I will do for you."

The crowd roared their approval.

Britecleff and Tempest sat in the carriage facing Sunthraze. Pyorin sat beside him, arm on the slim window ledge.

"I had heard…" Sunthraze confided to his captors. Or, they were once his captors. He wasn't sure what they were to him, now, "But I didn't know. All these people can't be for me?"

"Because they're not for you," Pyorin turned from the sunny window as more people, more buildings went past. "They're for every single man who struggled the way that you did, who came before you."

Britecleff amended that, "And not just prisoners, either. Every single person who ever got lost in the system at the Garrison or in Silvermoon. People abused by the aristocracy, or people that the aristocracy knew were being abused but even they were powerless to save. Like your family, who had their titles stripped away and their land taken for no real reason at all." Britecleff was embarrassed when Sunthraze looked at him, surprised, "…Isn't that what happened?"

Sunthraze's eyes drifted from the bright window to the dark corners inside the carriage, "I don't know what happened." He smoothed hands down his legs, asked awkwardly, "So, does Sylvanas' speech mean, like, you know-are we getting everything back?"

Pyorin frowned, "With Anasterian on the throne? With the Convocation of Silvermoon filled with the snootiest of nobles? I wouldn't hold my breath."

Britecleff finished explaining, "Everyone, aristocrats and commoners, everybody seems to be on common ground now, because of what happened to you. That's what matters. And yes, you can take some credit, however jealous Pyorin obviously is."

"Jealous!"

"Quiet, Pyorin. Sunthraze, you handled yourself well during the very worst of it. Other men don't have the character for that. Trust me, I know."

"Wait, are you still talking about me?"

"Pyorin—not every comment I make is about you." Britecleff furrowed his brow.

Then, Tempest went, "Yeah, Pyro. The world and, especially, all its women, don't revolve around you."

Sunthraze raised a hand, determined to get back on the real topic, "You all sound like you're on my side? I must be going crazy."

"Well…" Tempest rolled her eyes and smiled, "You're the one who showed which side to stand on."

Britecleff arched his fingers before a solemn mouth, "I think all of the Farstriders are on your side by now. Sylvanas' speech is also meant to send the little rats among our ranks scurrying back to their hiding places. We won't have to put up with the likes of Clerk Blaize's antics anymore. Hopefully."

Pyorin nodded, "Hrmph. And they'll be changing the arrest laws too, no doubt. It'll all change. We'll all have to get re-trained."

Britecleff shook his head, slowly, "Sunthraze, this is really because you resisted. It was your dignity, your great dignity… Your insistence on your innocence. It made an impression on Tempest, then on me… Clearly, on Pyorin too, when he met with you alone… we'll be talking about that later by the way, Pyorin."

Pyorin glanced back outside.

"But I do hear even Queen Celestia became concerned about you. There is a family connection, I know, but Celestia shouldn't have been moved, her heart is the iciest of hearts, possibly." Britecleff looked at Sunthraze, amazed, "Sylvanas came back and gave Anasterian a hard time about letting Sorn have you down in the Keep—but in the end, only Celestia could have pushed Anasterian from the other side, to make it happen."

Pyorin nodded along, "Though, Lord Mageblade and his legal threats had a part to play, too."

Britecleff rolled a hand, annoyed, "Yeah, but that's all still Celestia—Anasterian doesn't care about that, but Celestia does. In some ways, and don't quote me on this, Celestia is cleverer than him. But she chose to stick her neck out and push Anasterian because of Sunthraze and his remarkable passive resistance." Britecleff smirked at Sunthraze, "And you keep trying to tell me you're not a noble and it doesn't run in the family. Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze, after all this, don't make me call you a damned liar."

"No, sir."

"Sylvanas looked so amazing…" Pyorin mused.

"Couldn't hold that in, could you?" Tempest got on him.

"She was stunning," Went Britecleff.

"Super sexy," Sunthraze whispered.

"Well, why the hell not?" Tempest shrugged, "…I'd do her."

Britecleff squeezed his eyes shut and laughed.

Pyorin looked annoyed.

"Woah. Okay…" Sunthraze looked uncomfortable.

Pyorin informed him, "Tempest is bi, Sunthraze."

"Is she?!"

"Um, I'm sitting right here."

Britecleff found his voice again, "I don't think this is a subject to go on and on about, in front of your commanding officer. Let's just… get him home in one piece."

"Wait. So is Sylvanas…?"

Britecleff raised his hand so that there would be no more comments, "I'm sure that's none of your business, Sunthraze. Nor is it any of ours. Or any _man_ she may or may not be presently involved with."

Tempest grinned, "Though, as radiant as she was today, I'm sure suitors will be coming out of woodwork, if there isn't someone already. I wonder why she went to all that trouble. She's never really done that before? I mean, at a few royal balls, galas and things, I saw her dressed up."

"Well, she did us proud," Britecleff tried to end the discussion of Sylvanas' love life again.

"I bet she met someone in Stormwind!" Pyorin opened his hand, waggled fingers in Tempest's direction. "Betting pool? So who's on it… Uther? Rhonin? Uh… well, not Arthas."

Tempest frowned, "Yeah, Arthas is totally out. He's super-engaged to Jaina still, according to every paper and celebrity mag I've read, which is annoying." She held on suddenly, when the carriage went over a bump in the road, "Okay, well, I hear he's really something, though. Like, if you get to know him? Tall, handsome, charming in his own way… I guess he's not weird, actually. He just has that, you know, broody bad boy vibe, which you normally wouldn't expect from a paladin."

Britecleff looked uncomfortable that they were discussing Prince Arthas at all, "Why don't we talk about our own prince for a change." Then, he eyed Tempest and Pyorin angrily, "Positively, for once."

Pyorin wedged a small scratch pad out of his boot, and pulled a pencil from the binding. He began writing down names, noting the odds of each man in the Sylvanas suitor showdown, (and that was the title he gave the list, by the way) like they were horses in a race, "Tempest, that's a good point. I'll put Arthas down as a maybe… fresh out of the gate, fed up on his oats…"

Tempest sang, "Don't forget determined and desperate! That's what all the celeb mags like to say."

"Got it. And also a little, how-dya-call-it when horses kind of suck? …Lame."

Sunthraze raised his eyebrows, "Uh, Britecleff… isn't this exactly the kind of thing Sylvanas is making her speech about, like right now? Taking this Farstrider gig far more seriously?"

"Good point. Pyorin. Give it here."

"Aw…"

"Thanks, m'lord." Britecleff smirked at Sunthraze, "You know, I'm going to recruit you so hard, Sunthraze, it isn't funny. You are such a good man, it's killing me. It comes so naturally to you, doesn't it? The Farstriders need that so badly."

"No. And can you make that sound somehow… less sexual?"

Tempest brightened, "Ooh, man-crush. It's happening right now before my face, so rare in nature. So exciting!"

The rest of the ride went a bit like that, everyone taking shots at everyone else. Like real friends do. Unfortunately.

Sunthraze didn't want them to drop him off directly in front of his house, and thankfully, neither did Britecleff.

Britecleff knocked on the side of the carriage, for them to stop behind the gated field. Funnily enough, it was about where they had apprehended Sunthraze in the first place. Britecleff didn't seem to notice that, though. It made Sunthraze cringe, Pyorin smirk, and Tempest cross her long legs.

"Remember, this isn't exactly goodbye, Sunthraze. We'll also make contact with you for… another question we need to ask you. Don't contact us. There are some things we need to get in place, first."

Sunthraze sucked in a breath, "On pain of my family's land, and everything I've ever touched, loved or held dear including my balls being seized if I talk about any of that stuff from my briefing?" Sunthraze exhaled, sounded bored, "Sure, should be a fun time." Sunthraze put his hand on the door.

"This next part is totally voluntary, but I am confident you are the kind of man who wants to make a difference, who will put his real self into it. It isn't something I can force out of you. You see, I want to earn your trust back, Sunthraze… I'll tell you more once I know more, myself. Just, be assured that it really is nothing for you to worry about. Just… a favor. With something sensitive."

"Look, if you're hitting on me, Britecleff, could you just come out and say it?"

"What the-?!"

"I know." Pyorin looked nonplussed, "He's played that little trick on me, too." Pyorin mumbled, "One would think he's covering for something, himself…"

Sunthraze looked pretty proud of himself for unseating Britecleff, finally. Then, the carriage door opened from the other side. In fact, someone had yanked it open, and Sunthraze was unseated. He almost fell clear out of the carriage.

A woman with very red hair, streaks of gray in it, in the many rollers she had in it, actually, and, I kid-you-not, a rolling pin in her other hand, shuffled away at the last minute before Sunthraze hit the ground. The makeup around her eyes looked like it had somehow melted, a bit. A fresh cigarette was wedged behind her long ear and she reeked of some kind of alcohol. Possibly whatever moonshine they made at the Sunthraze home.

"…the hell have you been? What kinda trouble have you been startin' up, Sunthraze! Do you know what I had to read in the papers about you?"

"Ma! I was just—"

"You get in that house!" She pointed with the rolling pin, "And all them chores have been pilin' up like crazy." She was in a night dress. She waddled up the road in her house shoes before finally taking them off to chase her son up the street properly. Waving the rolling pin the whole way up the road.

Britecleff pulled the door shut, "Ho gods… disinheriting people really does change them. I think…" Britecleff tried harder, and harder not to laugh. But then, he failed, "That was Lady Sunthraze! His mother."

Pyorin burst out into wild laughter, "After all those jokes he made about us, that was so, so worth it!"

Tempest sighed with disappointment and pounded a fist against the carriage wall. "Drive on…"

And once they were fully down the road, "…She must have been worried sick. You two are both complete assholes, you know that, right?"

A Farstrider messenger arrived at the farmhouse that same afternoon. He wouldn't give Britecleff's invitation to the woman of the house, it would only be handed off to Sunthraze. Sunthraze hid in the nearest closet and pried it open before his mother could snatch it back.

 _Meet us at the Garrison, 7 o'clock, to discuss your next assignment. Supper will be provided. Looking forward to your bright future with the Farstriders._

 _-Britecleff_

As if that wasn't enough, Sunthraze's mother teased him about the letter that evening as he washed the dishes. And there were a lot of dishes.

"Yes, Ma, I do have an invitation to go and see that Commander Britecleff, I mentioned."

"But aren't you going to be late?" she was yelling from the other room, and probably on the couch. Sunthraze could smell her cigarette going again.

"I don't want you to worry, though, Ma. I'm not in trouble, and it isn't… mandatory, anyway. So, you know… I'm not going."

"Not mandatory? I don't believe you. It's probably from that girl, right? That's why you don't want me to go. Soon as the lights go out, you'll be running to go catch her and Sun knows what else… I know she's the one who really sent you that letter."

"Yes, Ma. From the pretty girl in the carriage. Sure. I have a love life after being in jail for weeks, who'da thought. No, obviously, it's not from her."

"We don't have money, in this family, for you to spend on fast women."

Sunthraze flushed with embarrassment. He picked up a pan, scrubbed it even harder.

"…Your children would come out as midgets, anyway, you're so short."

"I didn't know I was even making babies with this… random stranger, Mom! And, I am not short. Plus, anyway… she's a Farstrider. Or had you forgotten that some of the ways we survive on this farm, in this whole village, are on the wrong side of the law? Tempest is too dangerous. Now that I'm back home, and my head is clear… I just want all of that stuff to be over. It's too dangerous for me to go and meet with her commander and too dangerous for me to… well, I don't want to spend time with her anyway, she does have a so-called boyfriend, and why would I be so stupid?"

In the livingroom, Sunthraze's mother sank into the old couch and tossed a dull pink shawl over her shoulders. He could just barely see her through the doorway from the kitchen. Sunthraze couldn't lean all the way back and see, as his hands were covered in grease and soap suds, but they were used to shouting at one another through the house.

"Well…" and his mother raised her voice still further, "All Farstriders know that the… homesteaders and farmers in this neck of the woods, they do some moonshine business. It happens. They wouldn't be surprised to know we have a hand in it, too. You know, Suntouched Special Reserve started out as bootlegged stuff."

"That's ridiculous," Sunthraze stacked one plate, reached for another one.

"S'true. Only thing…" she sighed and snuggled deeper into the couch. But it was hard and threadbare and it couldn't give anyone very much comfort anymore, "A rich, ancient family line was doing it, so people just looked the other way. You can buy anything in Silvermoon. Well, in the Sunspire. That's even more true today than when you daddy was alive. When we were both courtiers."

Sunthraze stopped washing dishes.

His mother was falling asleep, he could tell. And she always did around this time, before the fireplace, after dinner.

It was harder to just go on now and not say it. Really, Sunthraze should have said it before. That morning, or yesterday. He thought of his father's face. Or, the man he believed was his father. Then, Sunthraze willed himself to see the silver edge of the wash basin, the white soap studs instead. He made himself stick his hands back in. And then, he remembered there were sharp knives still down at the bottom.

"Don't slit your wrist, now. I know that trashy girl's still on your mind," His mother's sense of humor was god-awful.

Sunthraze grimaced, hearing her say that.

"…And your life's not that much of a wreck. Yet."

"Mom…" he groaned.

"…And I'm sure you'll get your leg over that silly Farstrider bint soon enough."

"Mom!" Sunthraze flared next, thoroughly embarrassed.

She sat up and leaned over the back of the couch. Now their eyes finally met. Hers were green-blue. Deep and smokey, like raw gems. It wasn't ever hard for Sunthraze to imagine his father falling in love with her, despite her horrific personality.

Father.

Sunthraze really didn't want to finish the dishes.

"And that girl's another redhead. So sun and all the magics help us."

" 'The magics?' Really? Also, while we're talking about weird things you say and do… could you not run out of the house in rollers and large blunt kitchen objects in front of my friends, like ever again? It wouldn't have been so bad except that you don't dress like that, actually, and you only did it to embarrass the crap out of me in front of the Farstriders!"

"Stay on topic. You heard what I said? This is a time to stay focused on this ranch and what we need to take care of. Don't let anything distract you, no 'Sunthraze Matters' signs, no speeches, no women. Because this is all temporary, son. It's all temporary… it's not good attention, believe me. You'll be right back in a jail cell if you're not careful, that's my point. I need to keep you humble." Sunthraze watched her slide back down into the couch. Then, he wanted to go and sit by her on the couch too, for the first time in a long time.

"…You finish the dishes?" She slyly asked Sunthraze when he came into the room.

Sunthraze sat, then turned slightly on the couch, faced his mother. She had curled her whole body, almost, under the threadbare shawl. If she was a more useful sort of farmer's widow, perhaps she would have knitted something better, or made a warm quilt from the cloth scraps they had around. Sunthraze thought about Britecleff again, and what he said. He nor his mother were made for this kind of life.

Sunthraze had an uncomfortable epiphany, then. Yes, his mother had raised him into it and taught him to survive, somehow. And, she encouraged him when she could. But his mother hated being on that farm as much as he did. Perhaps she always loathed their fate. She could never let him know that, though. Her own son. He had to have some kind of chance, some kind of peace in his life.

Growing up made these kinds of revelations possible.

Sunthraze had already thought through several ways of asking. In the end, he knew that he couldn't, "Is King Anasterian my father? Are Prince Kael'thas and I half-brothers or something?" then, Sunthraze freaked out, "Am I the secret heir to the throne!"

"What? Gods, no!"

And her shamed, shocked reaction also proved that the posthumous Sunthraze was not his father, either. It was so defiantly implied, that it was someone else, if not him. All of it in her tone.

Sunthraze's mother read him as clearly as he read her, then. They were both related, and accustomed to each other, after all. Rather than say more, she swaddled herself tighter under the cloak.

She frowned, "Who finally told you? That… Abby Silverdare? That gossip… Or was it the blacksmith? It's only because I owe him a little money, you know. Because the plow broke…"

Sunthraze didn't answer.

"Wasn't it one of them?!" his mother became frantic, "Well, if not the neighbors… of course they wouldn't. I guess they were kind enough not to, all this time. Well? Who else!"

Sunthraze gave her a look, "An officer of the law. With access to family records. Commander Brightcleff, it seems, knows our whole family history, and then some. So don't even try to wriggle out of it, not one inch of it. But if I'm not related, then why would Queen Celestia be so worried about me?"

"She used to be my friend too, and a friend of your father's."

"Yours, too!"

Just as fast, "You shouldn't worry about it, Sunthraze."

Sunthraze looked at his hands, dripping soap suds and water on the floor. Why didn't he take the time to wipe them off? He must have been so nervous, coming to the couch.

"Sunthraze? Son?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Your father and I both loved you. We were a proper family, a proper one. He asked for us back. He wanted us back, so don't you see?"

"…Back?"

"He…"

Sunthraze put hands on his knees, mouth agape with the offense he was feeling, "When were we ever not with my father? Or, do I call him… Lord Sunthraze?"

"Lord Sunthraze is your father. And don't you ever forget that. Aren't you proud of where you come from? You be proud, and don't you ever give me any lip about it."

"You said, 'he wanted us back,' when did he not want us? He didn't want us in the house? On the old estate?"

His mother set her jaw tight.

"You were loved."

"We were rejected! Further proof… was that because of the affair? My father threw us both out back then? Onto the street!"

"It was complicated, but he found his way in the end. He was such a good man. He forgave that far."

"The real Lord Sunthraze, whoever he is—he was happy for us to live on the streets! For how long?"

"It doesn't matter, I refuse to tell you."

"So it was a long time, then."

"Sunthraze, stop it. Stop it right now," Her voice suddenly broke. She swallowed, then got up, to pace.

"…You were two years old. You wouldn't even remember that. It was supposed to never come up."

Sunthraze went to bury his face in his hands, but they were still slick with soap. He stopped at the last moment and cussed himself.

"Don't you speak to me that way!"

"I wasn't even-I won't speak to you at all!" Sunthraze went back to the kitchen, the dishes.

And so they didn't speak again that evening. And Sunthraze did forget about the meeting at the Garrison.

Hours later, there was a knock on the front door. And then, there were several knocks on the front door.

Commander Britecleff gave Tempest an annoyed look while they all waited on the Sunthraze doorstep for someone to answer.

Britecleff looked at her, annoyed, "I thought he was your new boy-toy, Tempest. So all that seku training amounted to nothing."

"Sekuu, or seduction interrogation, as you know, Britecleff, is an art. I didn't have enough time to do it properly…"

"If this is a round about way to ask me for leave so you can pursue him…"

"No, no. Nothing like that." But then, Tempest turned around and gave Pyorin a look, "I'm just saying, you know how some men are. Easy come, easy go." But she resumed smiling for some reason. Too much.

Pyorin rested a hand on the pommel of the sword at his hip, "Yes. Men like that will always disappoint you."

"Men like what?"

"I don't have anything against him, really. Like you all keep implying. But you know the type… that. Skinny. Obnoxious. Fancy tattoos. Good… hair."

"Oh, he's soo gorgeous. Sometimes, I can't wait to squeeze him!"

Pyorin huffed, "You're just busy trying to make me jealous. Aren't you? It isn't going to work. And, you're going to hurt that poor kid in the process."

Commander Britecleff knocked again, but then he got distracted again.

He asked them, "Why are you guys like this? This is exactly the wrong time to be at odds. Remember when you two first got together and I said I wasn't your daddy, but I did expect you to handle it professionally? This is not professionally. I'm not even supposed to be talking to you about your… fraternizing."

"She wants me to stop working at the palace. Abandon my important work with Queen Celestia."

"Good. You should stop working at the palace and abandon your meaningless job being a toy-boy for Celestia to jerk around… unless you want to end up in the queen's bed?"

"It's hard work, listening out for things the Farstriders can use. And it's really stressful."

Tempest sighed at him, "It's such hard work and you're so good at it, you're talking about it openly on a civilian's doorstep in the middle of a gossipy town, Pyorin. The same town who started the whole 'Sunthraze Matters' thing?"

Britecleff got bored with no real answer from either of them, focused on the door again. He leaned around to check the shuttered windows, but there was no apparent movement.

Pyorin went on rambling, "Eh, and I guess I admit, I am a little curious about Celestia, sometimes. I mean, Anasterian must be going crazy about her for a good reason. So as far as her bed, if I'm going to be honest, I guess that's a… Maybe? Ow-!"

Britecleff turned back around, freshly annoyed with them both.

Pyorin's face was red, but he wasn't saying anything. Tempest hummed pleasantly to herself.

Britecleff hissed at them, "Act like two competent servants of law and order. For once. You know, mysterious silence, repose and dignified bearing?"

Tempest mumbled, "I hate being dignified."

Pyorin pointed with a thumb, "And I only like her when she's baring."

"Baring? Like getting naked. Really lame, Pyorin."

"That's not what you said last night."

Tempest snaked her neck, with attitude, "And if you'd done half of what you were supposed to do last night, I wouldn't have forgotten about it so easily, now would I?"

Britecleff turned on them again, "When Sunthraze is finally in the Farstriders, he is getting both of your jobs, I don't care if that makes sense or not. I swear to Sylvanas I am going to find the paperwork to make that happen. I am going to bribe that damned Blaize whatever it takes, because I don't want to hear this, anymore! Got it?"

The door creaked open. A woman with deep blue-green eyes, and red-gold hair, still a great beauty, uncurled herself from beneath an old tattered rag about her shoulders. She saw their uniforms, certainly. Britecleff readied a fast smile, to state their business.

But she got there first, "My errant son? He's upstairs. Third door on the left." And Sunthraze's mother stepped back, held the door open wide for them.

Britecleff was surprised, but he didn't show it as the others did, "Evenso, Renelia Sunthraze, ma'am, I should state, for the record, that we are here on the orders of Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner to speak with your son. Only speak to him, that is all. It's just that it's a confidential matter and he missed our meeting at the Garrison. It wasn't the kind of confidential meeting that a loyal citizen of Silvermoon can miss."

Sunthraze's mother just stared. She didn't need any more convincing. Or, she didn't care.

"Good, then. I'll… go and see him now." To Pyorin, "Watch this door. No one comes in and no one goes out." He glanced over at Renelia Sunthraze to make that even more clear, "Tempest, you… well, if Sunthraze does manage to get past me, you block any other entry points."

Sunthraze's mother Renelia told them, "Other than the kitchen window above the washbasin and the door out that way, there's no real place big enough for his fat butt to squeeze through and escape, these days."

Tempest raised her eyebrows.

Renelia gave Tempest a cold smile in turn as Tempest entered the house with the others, "Making mental notes for your next little romantic rendezvous, are you?"

Pyorin snickered laughter before he closed the front door.

Britecleff jogged up the stairs. At first, he was sure that it could only be a trap. Nobody's mother, in all the time that he'd been serving as a Farstrider, completely ratted out their child when the officials came knocking. But, Sunthraze's light snoring reached his ears and it was just as Renelia said, third door on the left.

Britecleff sucked teeth, shook his head, and then yanked the edge of the sheets, hard. Sunthraze came awake whether he wanted to or not. Rugburn normally did the trick.

Sunthraze opened his eyes. Then, he hopped off the bed. He panicked, weaved for the door. Britecleff shoved him back.

"We had a date, friend. You stood me up."

"Don't make it sound like that! You're in my bedroom… the neighbors might hear."

"Be serious."

"Help! Mom!"

"She's the one who let us in here."

"Geez… ugh…" Sunthraze sank back down to sit on the bed. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. "This has to be a nightmare. What time is it?"

"Three o'clock in the morning."

"What possessed you! Do you know what it means to work on a farm, that I have to get back up in like… two hours? Less, if I want to not smell like bed and pajamas all day… dear Sargeras, this is madness." Sunthraze looked ready to cry, "You don't… 'invite' someone to a meeting, say it's voluntary, and then barge into their house without a warrarnt, without anything at all and start… pushing them around. And I already told you that I wasn't going to say anything about what I saw in the field at the briefing this morning. You said I didn't have to do this… favor thing you were dancing around. And I'm really sure that I don't want to be a Farstrider, though I'm really, really glad Sylvanas looked so bombshell and made her pretty speech that you guys are cleaning up your act, so… what is this? What do you still want with me, Britecleff!"

"We had an emergency we had to see to at the Garrison. This was the soonest we could get to you after you missed the meeting."

"So? That's not on me…"

"Lord Sunthraze. Get up. Get some clothes on."

"I'm not really 'Lord Sunthraze', and WHY THE HELL SHOULD I?!"

"Your prince needs you. And if I have to drag you down the stairs, by the ankles, to get your patriotic assistance, I would prefer if the lady downstairs didn't see. So get some pants on."

"Who? My mother's still awake, I guess. I don't care what she thinks. I hope she gets traumatized seeing me pushed around like this! You Farstriders really like edging toward another scandal, don't you? Why'd she even let you in the house?"

"Tempest is also downstairs. Come on."

Sunthraze's face went blank. Then, he fell back onto the bed properly and kicked wild like a kid having a tantrum for several seconds, "Why? Dear everything… why me?!"

"Hey, what's this?" Britecleff turned and almost tripped over a colorful magazine on the floor.

"Oh. That must've fell out of the bed when you tried to rugburn me alive with my blanket." Sunthraze reached for Britecleff to hand it back to him. Then, when Sunthraze saw what it actually was, he fought to get to the magazine first.

"Heheh…" Britecleff began to flip through what was definitely a very smutty girly magazine. "You poor, lonely farm boys. Now, if you were a man in uniform, a decorated Farstrider that everything in a dress clamored for…"

"You're not even supposed to be in here! Now you're going through my things. Anyway, it was my… seventy-five copper I spent. So I'm entitled to enjoy it."

"Usually the trashiest girly mags are the cheapest… but you actually got a good deal on this one. This issue is practically vintage." Britecleff looked up from a particular page, seemed to remember where he was and why. "Well, here you go. I won't confiscate this. For now…" a smirk.

Sunthraze snatched it back. Stuffed it far beneath his rumpled pillow.

"By the way, page fifty-six… she makes the whole thing worthwhile." Britecleff wasn't smiling anymore, though. He was looking through Sunthraze, almost. Trying to read his reaction.

Sunthraze smiled, "Ho, yeah. Lucia Cuomo… Girl on beach with Goblin threshing machine. Never thought an oil spill could be so… anyway."

Britecleff looked bored, "Being completely serious, this is pretty pathetic, you know. You're a grown man."

"…So? And in a lot of ways, you're still a grown… prick commander in the Thalassian army."

"I'm trying to tell you. Stop being a punk and take Tempest up on her offer."

"What offer?"

"She let you kiss her. She didn't slap you. Tempest slaps a lot of people. Men. Eh… some women. I don't handle her when she does that, I just send her to Windemere."

"…Why am I not surprised."

"Well? Not that I care so much, but you're being an idiot. It's like watching a kitten stand there in the road, about to get squashed by a carriage."

"Tempest is… well, she's fun, and she's cute, I guess, but now that I'm back home and on planet… reality. I'll just put it this way, I do know the type."

"Type? You mean the type of woman you're afraid to go for. You have a lot less confidence when you're not in a cage, I swear."

"Britecleff, I'll go downstairs willingly if you never, ever bring this up again! And you don't tell Tempest about the magazine."

"You forget that Tempest also enjoys this brand of magazine, considering her… proclivities."

Sunthraze gawped at the comment. Then, he remembered, "Well, even if she's a girl who likes other girls, too… it's still ungentlemanly—why are we even having this conversation! And I think it's kind of offensive to her, right!"

"Trust me. It's not. So, all that time you guys talked, she never, ever brought it up?"

"Brought what up?"

"Well… I mean, I'm guessing myself, but I'm pretty sure it's obvious how she ended up in that reform school in the first place, and on the fast track to becoming an officer?"

Sunthraze just looked scared.

"Look, I'm trying to give you some confidence, some inspiration to go for the poor girl, when there's clearly an opening that's once in a lifetime, and I can also save myself a lot of headaches if you do. She and Pyorin have been driving me crazy, Sunthraze. I'm sure you've noticed."

"Wait… are we… did you bust into my house for a secret assignment, or are you trying to fix me up, or what? Because there's all kinds of crazy unprofessionalism going on right now if you ask me."

Britecleff flushed red, "Alright. Don't say I didn't try to help you out. Pants. Downstairs. Now."


	10. Mom, stop helping them to punish me

**Note** : Did you see the new intro? I replaced the old one with a shiny, semi Star Wars spoof. Enjoy! You'll see how it relates to future chapters. Also, to go with the introduction, I am going to insert some extra parts with the Bloodknights of today, Kael'thas and even Sylvanas looking back, since they're each remembering how horribly embarrassing their lives were before. Stay tuned for that, mauhahahaa...

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Sunthraze skulked downstairs in dingy pajamas and a shirt with holes in it. And he was horribly embarrassed about it. He sort of waved to Tempest as he went by, but mostly only because he had to. She'd already made flinty eye contact with him when he at first tried to pretend he was invisible.

"The other one is guarding the front door, and the whole premises, Sunthraze, so there's no escape that way," Britecleff clamped a hand on Sunthraze's shoulder and steered him away from the front door, back toward the living room. Tempest, who had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs, followed them in.

"Do you all have a quiet place where we can write? Perhaps an office?"

Sunthraze snapped, "What does this look like? Fancy Cantrips?"

"Be more respectful." Sunthraze's mother shook her head at him. "There's the tack office that the breeder uses when he comes by to update the registry. And we keep other livery records in the boxes on the floor, but never mind those. The desk is set with plenty of paper and my best pens. It's through there. Do you need anything else? Envelopes? Some extra candles to see by?"

"Moooom, stop helping them to punish me!"

Renelia ignored her son, "And you'll be ducking around Hawkstrider saddles, but it's decent enough. I'll get an extra chair—"

"Tempest, don't let our unusually compliant hostess strain herself during this house arrest. Because that's how I'm going to record it this time…"

"More Farstrider legal loopholes?" Sunthraze griped.

"…Tempest. Go get the extra chair."

Renelia looked up at Tempest, smug. Tempest made a wide arc around Sunthraze's mother, got the chair and followed them into the small office.

"Mmm… the smell of whips and leather—"

"Out. Now." Britecleff looked alarmed at what Tempest had started to say now, "And guard this door."

Tempest saluted, though she was looking at Sunthraze. She closed the door gently behind herself.

"Have a seat."

"In my own home? Why thank you, Commander Britecleff."

"Anytime. Now, about my question… I really did not want to do things this way. But you see the choices we have."

"Actually, no I don't. It's more like… I'm the one with no choices and you Farstriders are busy being the complete dillholes. Again."

Britecleff missed that remark, somehow. He was lost in worrisome thought, "Right." He leaned over knees and dry-washed his hands. "I'd better explain everything first."

Sunthraze became concerned as well, though he didn't want to be. But it was starting to sink in, for them to come and find him like this, in the middle of the night. It was a little Farstrider favor. Something truly wasn't right.

"Wait, you did say I had a duty to my prince? What did you mean by that?"

"Well it's… confidential, mostly. I thought I knew how to tell you, before. There were only a few more details to discuss with Sylvanas. And Sorn."

"Sorn! That guy again?"

"…But after what happened at the Garrison tonight, I re-thought everything. Absolutely everything."

"May I know…what happened at the Garrison?"

Britecleff slapped hands on his legs, "Man, about your age. He was locked up for treason and a lot of other things, and he tried to escape. He got as far as the outer wall. He got past all the guards, everyone. He severely injured one of my best recruits. A very good healer was visiting the Garrison for the first time that night. Possibly the finest we have. This guy attacked our healer that we'd sent all the way to Stormwind for, Sylvanas pulled strings with Uther the Lightbringer himself to have back. I don't know how this kid got a hold of Fennore. But it turned out he had this shiv in his hand and… It was so terrible."

"Gods. I'm sorry to hear that—"

"I'm not. I shot him."

Sunthraze opened his mouth, but couldn't find anything else to say.

"Not the healer. The other guy. The treasonous rat who tried to run off. Fennore's too valuable to take any chances with, whatsoever."

"I… I gathered that."

"Fennore. He'll be okay. On loan from the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind, which is a shame because we were really trying to make a good impression on him. It feels like a lot of Highborne magical talent is leaking out to the Human lands, these days. I guess they pay better, Plague or not. And probably their society is more open. In some ways."

"Welp. You murdered someone today. I… did the dishes."

"That guy I shot was also someone who was supposed to be helping the Farstriders. He was a civilian who turned on us. We paid him, and well for his job. But then he went and sold our secrets to the Amani Trolls." Britecleff paused, shook his head. "It's easy to crack under that kind of pressure, between two empires. If you're not trained for it properly, it can ruin you, to have to make decisions about who wins and who loses. When you realize you have that kind of power…" Britecleff didn't finish.

Sunthraze let out a breath. He couldn't keep Pyorin from coming directly to mind.

"I just don't want to do the same to you, Sunthraze. I want this to be very easy for you."

"Good. I'm glad you don't have any grand plans to shoot me."

Britecleff smirked, "Not yet."

"Ho… crap." Sunthraze winged, his shoulders sank.

"Oh, come on, I won't have to shoot you," Britecleff gave Sunthraze a playful shove, but it was more like they were talking about arena scores, not Sunthraze being heartlessly cut down someday if he let his country down, execution style, "I won't have to because I am not going to tell you everything and leave so much on your shoulders. That's how Sorn, Sylvanas and I finally decided to do it. You'll learn your mission on a need-to-know basis. And, I'm going to recruit you into the Farstriders. That'll keep you alive even if things do go badly."

"That tends to be a choice, enslaving yourself to the great Thalassian Empire. I've reminded you of this, many times. And why do you make it sound like I'm about to be squished between two empires in some way?"

"You'll want to join up in the end, Sunthraze. I've conscripted tougher characters than you, believe me."

"Like… Pyorin?"

"Yep."

"How did you find him?"

"He lined up and conscripted. And he's excellent at what he does, isn't he? It's more his… I shouldn't tell you this, but his chasing women around all the time is giving me a lot of problems. But that's never really it, is it? It's wanting attention, some sort of high. Or, being afraid to do anything else, to slow down and think about your own feelings. Your own insecurities. The womanizing is kind of a smoke screen for him. I don't know why Tempest puts up with it. Well, maybe I do. Maybe for the same reason I haven't given up on him, yet."

"Interesting."

"You have the same problem, too, you know. You hate to think about your own feelings. Maybe you resisted being treated like a criminal so well because you're already so good at suppressing and resisting everything else."

"So, now you're a counselor. Thanks."

"It's part of my job. I have to help young recruits."

"I'm not one of your recruits, Britecleff, no matter what you hear yourself saying out of your own mouth, it's not coming out of my mouth, okay?"

Sunthraze leaned on the back legs of his chair, brooding.

Then, Sunthraze couldn't help himself, "And Tempest, how did she get recruited?"

"You already know the answer to that, or you forgot. Like I said, she got fast-tracked from a military school."

"Right. She did tell me that."

"Of course she did. She's proud of that. I knew she must have done it. But then I guess she got cold feet about the rest of it. I mean, I know her. She always plays to win, so why leave that part out? It's a sure thing after that."

"What rest of it?"

"Look, now I feel bad. Even if I do think it'll get Pyorin and Tempest permanently out of my hair—I shouldn't be reading out their personnel files to you. Anyway, it's just a theory of mine. It's nobody's business, really. I was just very sure that it was true, and if so, then it would matter, a lot, to you. That's all."

"She's so… butch." Sunthraze looked disturbed, "I think she's going to grab me the next time I tell her 'No.' "

"You like it."

"What?"

"Thing is, Pyorin likes it, too. He's smart enough to keep her, but not mature enough to know what to do with her. I hope you sort yourself out before he does. Gods, it's like a race to see two grown men finally grow up. And you both have so much potential, it's killing me. But then again, it's also like watching paint dry… Ugh."

Britecleff put his head in his hands and just languished for a solid moment.

"Um…" Sunthraze winced, "Are you… alive, still?"

Britecleff made a fist on the table, "Time to work. Pen. Paper. You're writing a letter to Prince Kael'thas."

"What?! I don't… Huh? But he's all the way in Dalaran! Why would I need to write to him? Why me?"

"There's a loose family connection that I think we can use. Right?" Britecleff stared at Sunthraze, too tired to have noticed that he'd announced his intentions. Much like Tempest was always doing.

"You people are lunatics, seriously! I'm not writing something directly to Prince Kael'thas, so that it can get back to me and I take the fall. No thank you. You're going to have to hang me first."

"My gun. Is on Tempest. Just outside that door. And the funnier thing is, I don't think your mother will mind if we do have to pistol whip you."

"This is insane." Sunthraze dipped the quill in inkwell several times until it was wet. "This is really, really, ridiculous. This is crazy! I can't do this? I'm not really writing to him, for real, am I?"

" 'Dear Kael'thas…' write that." Britecleff waited for this to happen, then went on, "I hope that you remember me… and that… you don't mind me reaching out." Britecleff pulled a folded piece of white paper from his gauntlet and put it on the table, "I wasn't sure of the greeting, I had to cross it out a few times. But the rest is good. Copy this."

"Why does it have to be in my handwriting? Oh, right… the family connection." Sunthraze sighed and copied some more onto the page, "This is so terrible. I don't understand this at all."

"We need to get a message through to Kael'thas. That's the main thing you need to know. And you two, you and him together, you are family friends. I don't know why you didn't mention it… Pyorin re-affirmed what I already knew about your father and Celestia being old friends. But the other thing Sylvanas and I, and Sorn alone know, is that you are personal friends with our prince. You're the one."

"I'm not…"

"And that, with the fact that yours is an old enough family, like the Sunstriders, so custom dictates he will have to show some acknowledgement of the message. In the end, we can and we will get Kael'thas to read this letter, with the information that has to go in it."

Sunthraze set down the pen. "I didn't mention that I—Well, I never said I am friends with Kael'thas, because I'm not. I mean, it's not possible."

"Look, I didn't mean what I said the other day about your family being angry at King Anasterian. I spoke out of turn. There's no need to pretend, or to cover the truth of it now."

"You're tired, Britecleff. You're not making sense. I've had at least more sleep than you have. Listen to me say it again. I, nor my mother—and those are all the Sunthrazes on this side of the family left—we are not personal friends of the Sunstriders. I'd know if I had any real connection to the royal clan other than being disinherited or some… like you said, loose connections, some garden parties at the palace, some carriage rides Queen Celestia and my father took when they were young… and my mother probably went with them, too. But I, nor my mother, would be living in this dump right now if we were truly and actually friends with the Sunstriders, I can tell you that."

"But you are living in a dump. And yet, you are friends with the Sunstriders."

Sunthraze looked at Britecleff like he was crazy.

"When you were seven… Look, I don't want your mother involved in this. And I don't want to bring her in here, make her recall it, to prove everything. But you met Prince Kael'thas back when you were boys. Since then, there was a falling out that I don't understand. From what I can tell, neither side did anything wrong."

Sunthraze said, "Well… I mean, that was a long time ago. It was one summer. It was just for a week or two, right? And it was mostly… my parents. We didn't even go to the castle. There was this big event. A solar festival. He and I were just chasing each other around the house, or the estate. I think. But that's not a close connection."

"Sunthraze, it was two summers. Don't you remember? I've checked this already, with a few people close enough to know. Advisor Sorn, for one. Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider considers you to be a friend. A real friend. He even speaks about you sometimes."

"You're shitting me. This is that whole undie thing again, isn't it?"

"Or maybe at every… other family gathering, maybe? Kael'thas says, 'Remember that summer Lord Sunthraze taught me to skip rocks?' And then everyone in the family knows by now, knows it by heart, 'No, that other summer we watched the fireworks, but he fell in the pond. I almost drowned saving him.' Then, King Anasterian usually reminds Kael'thas that he was the one who had to go in there and save you both. The king put himself in danger for both of you that one summer. You really don't remember that?"

"I do remember almost drowning one summer. I remember… I was underneath the water. I saw all this water and I couldn't believe it. I was going under. I couldn't move fast enough or help myself. I thought, 'So this is drowning.' I remember being shocked that it was happening to me." Sunthraze sat back in the chair, "I… asked the Light to save me. I also remember that part. But I don't know why I did that, prayed. Highborne don't… usually, we don't pray. I think my grandparents, they used to. But nobody really does that any more, not in Quel'thalas."

Britecleff grinned like he knew everything already, and even more, "Natural-born to that school of magic, I think. Your instinct kicked in."

"Like when Tempest and Pyro were fighting with the Light? And their instincts kicked in? Kicked in so hard that they tried to kick my ass?"

"Again. His name is Pyorin. And what you saw on that morning is still classified."

"No problem. I won't say anything more about it. Like I would want the world knowing that I got my butt handed to me on my own property anyway."

Britecleff pushed on, "It wasn't technically your property. Look, however you feel about Kael'thas… if you write to him, if you're polite about it, he will definitely read your letter and anything else you have to say. So please, do try. Try and get his attention in the way that only you can. And if you have any ideas for how to make this letter better, any memories, like that one that you just shared, please tell me."

Sunthraze picked up the pen again. "Is Kael'thas in trouble? He has to be, if you're going this far to reach him."

Britecleff rested his elbow on the edge of the small desk, looking sleepy. "If I tell you, I may have to shoot you…already… but I already said that."

"Alright, I'm done squeezing information out of you. You need coffee. There's plenty in the kitchen. Go tell your gorilla-ess on the door there to go fix us some."

Tempest's muffled voice came through the door, "I heard that." Then, they heard her leaving for the kitchen.

"She's listening in on us? That pretty rude of her."

"You're just mad that you're not getting to first base tonight," Britecleff shrugged.

"Look. I didn't even say I was going to try—" then Sunthraze brooded about that statement for several reasons.

Hours later, it was dawn. Sunthraze woke up, sitting in the same chair. Britecleff had his feet up on the end of the table. Sunthraze was trapped behind those polished navy-green Farstrider boots. Sunthraz took one last look at the door, so closeby yet so far away. Then, Sunthraze grinned evilly. He shoved both of Britecleff's feet off the desk, hard. Britecleff twisted around in the swivel chair, then pitched forward to fall. Sunthraze then tripped over a box of leather Hawkstrider tackle and slid out of his chair too.

The door opened, fast. Tempest filled the bright white doorway. She stepped in, a shining silver and blonde polished blunderbuss in one hand, raised. Her vigilant gaze on both of them, in the shadows.

"You hurt?"

"I'm also on the floor too, Tempest. You know, your superior officer? That Britecleff guy?"

Tempest smiled pleasantly. She stooped and helped Sunthraze up first. She dusted off his shoulders.

She then told them both, "I think Commander Prick can help himself, being a big, fancy decorated Farstrider everything in a dress is clamoring for."

Sunthraze gave a good belly laugh at that.

"And she's started using your jokes, too." Britecleff huffed and swept back the sides of his expensive haircut, "Just perfect."

Tempest lingered, staring fondly at Sunthraze as he sat back down again.

"Alright, go on. More coffee."

Tempest ignored Britecleff's order, "I like your mother, Sunthraze."

"What—"

"She showed me all your baby pictures. You had a cute little bottom then, too." Tempest pulled the door closed again.

"Oh gods…"

"I think that's revenge enough for that shoving me stunt. You're really lucky I'm not your superior officer right now. Alright, have we finished the letter yet?" Britecleff yawned, "Where'd we leave off?"

"Right. I read the rest of your draft, here," Sunthraze indicated the folded up piece of white paper Britecleff had shared hours before. "I had to change a few things. I don't want you to read what I ended up with because my version is practically perfect, but I guess I have to. The Light knows, I'm not hand-delivering it to Kael'thas myself, all the way across the Plaguelands to Dalaran, just to prove a point."

Britecleff leaned over the desk and began to read. "Family connection thing… good. Yep, and you had to mention the part about you being in jail, but you were also found innocent. That's good, too. Mhrm… I like the congratulations on his 'major in all the schools of magic.' Very flattering."

Sunthraze shrugged, "It was in all the newspapers."

"It's strange, though. I could have sworn Human universities didn't work like that." Britecleff narrowed eyes at the next section, "Wait, what's this?" Then, he read aloud,

"… _I hate to do this, but you're the only person I can think of who would appreciate the fine Hawkstriders that have been coming from the Sunthraze Estate, especially to the royal family and the Sunspire, over hundreds of years. To the point—would you like to make a larger investment in the future of the industry, by supporting the Sunthraze livery directly this breeding season? Your financial sponsorship will go toward…"_

"Are you… asking Kael'thas for money? Seriously?"

"Hey, he might agree."

"I'm striking this out right now. You bonehead. And as if I'd ever sign my name to something so blatant."

"Wait, hold on—why else would I write to Kael'thas? He's smart. Do you want him to see through the fact that the postage was paid first-class, which I assume it will be, that I knew his exact address at the university in Dalaran as a civilian, which we'll have to, or else it'll get lost… Kael'thas will probably be able to see through all of this. If he does, you might've ruined my family connection, and worse, you'll have burned your only bridge to him, if I'm guessing right and Sorn, nor Anasterian, are able to just talk to him. The asking for money thing, it's essential."

"You greedy rat…"

"Think it over, Britecleff. Say it to yourself. Say it with me, 'Why else would I write to him, out of nowhere? Why else would I go through the trouble, or the expense?' Anyway, it's my family reputation so I do have some say in how all this gets handled, right? That's my other reason."

Britecleff thought it over.

Tempest knocked, then came in, "Ready for hot, steamy coffee? There's also some toast." She wanted to set down the small tray, but there wasn't any room. Tempest wedged herself into the small office, ducked a bit under a hanging saddle, bent down and let the men take wanted they wanted.

Both Sunthraze and Britecleff noticed how well she did that. Sunthraze was not so good at hiding it, though.

"Thank you, Tempest."

"Uh… yeah." And Sunthraze finally got his eyes where they were supposed to be, "Thanks."

"Anytime." She mouthed to him alone.

Tempest stood upright, bumped her head on a hanging saddle, then huffed and put a hand on her hip, "So, do I get to run with this over to the Sunsipre, yet, chief? Or do you want Pyorin to go do it?"

Sunthraze looked to Britecleff and drummed his fingers impatiently.

"Look, close the door. Let me ask you something, Tempest… Would you… If an old friend wrote to you, someone you really liked and missed, but lost touch with. Not their fault. If they asked you for money mid-way through the 'Hey, how's it been?' letter, would you get mad?"

Tempest looked a little sad. She let her arm, holding up the empty tray, hang at her side. Then, she knelt on the floor, rather than bump her head on the hanging saddle again.

"You're kinda… kneeling at my feet right now."

Britecleff crunched some toast, "Be quiet, Sunthraze. You had your best chance while she was your jailor. Unless now you suddenly have real courage."

Tempest took the letter off the table to read herself. "Aww, this is such a cute letter. You really were friends with Kael'thas? I thought I overheard that part. So that's why you wanted him to write the letter so badly, Britecleff?"

Britecleff had a sip of his coffee.

"Your own Farstriders are on a need-to-know basis, too?"

"I like them far better than I like you, generally. Though lately, they've been trying my patience." Britecleff looked at Tempest, "I double-don't-want-to-let-them-get-shot."

Tempest got down to the end of the letter. "Oh my gosh… You'd better take this thing back. I think I'm going to cry. That was so sweet."

Sunthraze winced, "You sure?"

"Yeah. It really actually just makes you feel… sorry for Sunthraze. Well, his whole family. And the Hawkstrider industry. "

Sunthraze looked dejected, then.

"I think we've got a winner."

"I want Pyorin to read this, Commander."

"No need, Tempest. Actually, there's no time." Britecleff gulped down more coffee, began to get up.

"Wait, you need my signature."

"Oh, right. Sign at the bottom please…"

"No."

Tempest looked up at both men, watched them getting angrier.

Sunthraze raised his voice, "I already know what happens next, if I don't get skinned alive when this penpal mess goes wrong. My mother is going to ask, 'What did you do for them?' and then I have to tell her, because I don't care what you say, I'll have to. And then she's going to ask me, 'Well how much did they pay you?' I'm telling you right now, if I don't say that we're making some money off of this, I won't be available to write any more letters because I'll be dead. This is a big break for us, she'll see it as the biggest break we've had in a long time. I know her."

"And now I think I know the Sunthrazes. Easier to ask for money when dear mummy's making you do it."

"Anyway, it's only fair, Britecleff. I want to be paid for this. I won't be doing this out of the kindness of my heart. Whether Kael'thas is… depressed or he's my undie or whatever. I just can't. You read the pity party I put in that letter, all true. I also lost money while being cooped up in jail for almost a month. My mother couldn't really manage on her own. You know, at the end of the day, we should really get reparations…"

"Okay…"

"And you wouldn't have half that letter without me. Me and my mother."

"Fine, fine! Here…"

Britecleff fished into his money pouch and handed Sunthraze a few shining yellow coins. Sunthraze waggled fingers for Britecleff to keep it coming.

"Heh, this looks exactly like you're paying for a hooker."

Sunthraze and Britecleff looked down at Tempest on the floor.

"I would prefer not to compare this top secret mission saving Prince Kael'thas' life to the Farstriders paying for sex, alright? Is that too much to ask from you, Tempest?"

"Wait, we're saving his life?" Sunthraze sat back down to count out the money again.

Britecleff was going to answer Sunthraze, but then Tempest lay her head on Sunthraze's knee, shut her eyes, began humming something.

Britecleff and Sunthraze became quiet, uncomfortable.

"I'm… afraid to move my leg," Sunthraze made an exaggerated whisper.

Tempest got up then, embarrassed, and Britecleff handed her the letter, "Make haste."

Tempest saluted quickly and then squeezed back through the many saddles and bridles hanging from the ceiling, to leave.

"You hurt her feelings with your smart mouth, you know," Britecleff said when they were again alone. He had taken off his jacket during the night. He picked it up from the back of the chair now, and put it on with one smooth motion.

"Yes, we kissed…" Sunthraze looked frustrated a moment, focused again on the money in his hand, "But I can't really give her anything else. She'll want a lot more from me, than even this." He raised his handful of gold, "And, honestly, Tempest is crazy if she's seen the way I live and these pajamas and she still wants to talk to me, anyway—"

"Not all women are like that."

"Look. I do know that… But it's just complicated, okay?"

"You're an idiot." Britecleff muttered, and then he left the room, too.

Sunthraze and his mother watched all the Farstriders mount up out on the road. It was annoying how fresh and confident Pyorin looked, though he couldn't have slept much, either. Supposedly, all his fancy military training accounted for it. Pyorin stared back at Sunthraze when he noticed him glaring. And then, there was something else in that look, the secret they shared. Pyorin wanted to see if Sunthraze had ratted him out yet. Sunthraze avoided eye contact, as if everything was still fine. That should have been enough for Pyorin.

"Same time, next week," Britecleff told Sunthraze. "I'll send word where to meet me, since you're so unhappy about doing it in the comfort of your own home."

Sunthraze looked at his mother, annoyed, "Some comfort."

She looked ready hit him for that.

"… And show up this time, Sunthraze." Then to Renelia, Britecleff inclined his head slightly, in a gentile fashion, "Ma'am. Thank you for your patience and support."

"It was only obvious what was required. And if I offer you my son once, or a few times… there's less of a chance you'll take him away from me permanently. Isn't there?"

Sunthraze blinked several times. That hadn't occurred to him.

Britecleff checked at that also. Her presence now was so different from when she dragged Sunthraze out of the carriage. Britecleff nodded to Renelia again, carefully. He gestured one way, and Tempest pulled her bird mount around in that direction, rode off. Then, Britecleff and Pyorin went the other way.

Once the soldiers were just dustclouds going down both sides of the road, the two Sunthrazes started whispering to each other.

Renelia Sunthraze smiled proudly, "…How much are we getting for this?"

"Two thousand."

"Good boy… good boy, Sunthraze!" Renelia mussed her son's auburn hair happily. Then they fussed at splitting the handful of coins right there, on the old creaky porch.


	11. Awwwwwwww!

**Note** : To make the story more consistent with the intro and explain the different perspectives, there are new short scenes at the beginning of Chapter 2: A smokin' hot, short redhead; Chapter 4: Good ole' Fennore; and Chapter 8: Syl-van-as

From here on out, there should be no more chapter replacements like this.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 _Modern day, Pandaria…_

 **T** empest turned back at the last moment and closed the door immediately behind General Blaize.

Both Liadrin and Tempest heard him swear and bang on the door.

Liadrin stood from her chair and folded hands in front of herself. "Tempest, is that really the way to treat my latest penitent? Blaize was good enough to come in here and give his confession, with Kael'thas and Pyorin, too…" Liadrin lingered, "Well, I can't finish that sentence. He's still such a bastard, isn't he?"

Sorn warned her, "That wasn't very kind, Lia."

Tempest shouted at Blaize through the door, "Look, this isn't Tempest Keep, nor is it the Black Temple, Blaize! Three people affiliated with the New Sunfury Army can have a private conversation alone in a room if they want to."

The women rolled their eyes and waited. Finally, soft tones of Pyorin's voice were apparent, and then both his and Blaize's footfalls departed together.

Liadrin chided herself, "Well, he's desperately worried about his son. Nor has anyone been very, well, nice to Blaize during this mission."

"Because he went right back to acting like the same old General Asshat again—You know, I'd forgotten about some of the asinine things he said and did back then."

"Tempest, please. Things are tough enough on all of us without name calling."

"Though that was a particularly good one," Sorn looked up from what he was tracing in the air with a purple crystalline stylus. He was scrolling up through what had been written over the past few days, checking things here and there.

Liadrin's cheeks flushed, "Tell us what you wanted to say, please, Tempest. After that, you really should go and rest. I'm relieved that Blaize began to remember, and I also know it wasn't easy for any of you. Confessions take a lot out of a person, emotionally."

Tempest paced, looked anxious. She then turned back to the window and tapped a bamboo chime hanging there. A small bell within jingled, then ended in a soft, soothing note, as if from a flute. Every little thing the Pandaren did was tantalizing.

Tempest felt the back of her neck, and the neatly clipped auburn bob she wore. Faint silvery green makeup lightened her eyes. She appeared uncomfortable, not wanting to really look at Liadrin nor Sorn again.

"I've given you a lot of bad memories. I was very unkind to Sunthraze when I first met him. And, honestly, I'm horrified at how awkward I was, or that I was even in that kind of… relationship, if you could call it that. And with Pyorin of all people."

"Pyorin is a wonderful, honorable man. And he's such a good husband to Daphne."

"I know. Of course he is." Tempest dropped hands at her sides, frustrated. "But he was, well, a complete dillhole back then. You heard him."

"Well, you were the one dating him." Sorn arched an eyebrow.

"Right, that's what I'm trying to say! Look, I'd like to start over." Tempest paced the other way, "Sitting at his feet, humming like a weirdo and sashaying about, threatening him every five minutes—is that really me? If… if you're going to give him these memories once you're finished recording everything, then, please—let me share just one with you that isn't like the others. There are some things that, over time, I let myself forget. But this one, I was afraid to ever let go. And I was nervous about sharing it, in front of anyone else." She faced them, confident, "Okay?"

"Is this you facing up to what you've done?"

Tempest held onto the back of the one chair, "You could say, it's the start of it. One good memory to balance against…what happened in the end."

"Please sit, child. Relax."

Tempest had a careful seat on the purple couch, then exhaled.

Sorn drew a sparkling blue line through the air beneath his earlier conjuring. He lifted his crystal stylus again, ready.

"Do the others really need this memory too?"

"To ensure that the memory deterioration spell ceases to replicate, we need to completely seal it off, wherever it reaches. Not unlike… snipping the ends off of a frayed ribbon." Sorn flipped up his monocle. "Every strand must be snipped clean away."

Tempest rubbed hands up and down her legs. "Hokay. Here we go. So… this one day, I was incredibly stupid. I… I put on my best dress and wore it to Sunthraze's ranch, totally uninvited. And that was after threatening Britecleff that he owed me one and he had better let me take a note to Sunthraze or else."

"Uh oh…" Sorn teased, began sweeping loops of blue magic through the air.

"Go on," Liadrin looked uncomfortable. "Sorn, trust me. Tempest's stories, however prettily they may begin, usually end in some kind of train wreck."

 _Silvermoon, 103 days before the sundering…_

 **S** unthraze saw the tall woman in a white dress covered with large red flowers and elegant hat, and waving at him, strutting alongside the derelict fence, but he still didn't believe it. Tempest judged the distance to the gate by the road, shook her head, and then kicked one leg and hopped the fence. A flare of red-blotted skirt followed. She gripped it with white lace gloves and swung her other long leg over just as fast. A wide-eyed Sunthraze then watched her march carefully around a mud puddle in strappy, stiletto sandals. Then, about when he could see the whites of her eyes, the overly-smiling woman slowed and smirked.

"Good…" she cleared her throat, trying not to laugh, "morning."

Sunthraze felt how he gripped his shovel with both hands. He relaxed them so that the knuckles didn't seem so white.

Then, Tempest tried again, "…I have a reason to be here today."

"As opposed to… ? Sounds like something a stalker with a guilty conscience would say."

Tempest looked very embarrassed, ready to turn back. Sunthraze remembered how they left things last time, his smart mouth almost sending her out of the room. He quickly and profusely apologized.

"…You look beautiful." He ended up saying.

She took a letter out of her bag, ignoring his easy compliment, "You know what your problem is, Lord Sunthraze? You're negative." She then offered him the envelope.

"I'm covered in filth up to my elbows mucking out Hawkstrider stalls. Day in, day out. Of course I'm negative." Then he muttered, "Even when I'm trying to be nice." Then, Sunthraze furrowed his brow, afraid to take it.

Tempest waggled the envelope at him again, "A pretty girl takes hours getting ready, finding the right little scarf… for around her neck. The right bright red lipstick and little… earrings. Pearls? No, too innocent. Gold studs?" She had a breath. It was clear now, how nervous she was, "But I wore black. Where you would look right into my eyes, see my face… try to guess what I'm really feeling."

"And how are you feeling, today?"

Tempest had to look away, for a moment. Her voice returned, with that gaze, so much more vulnerable, "They're… little naughty, black roses."

Sunthraze could smell her perfume. He leaned in. She came closer. "All this is for you." Tempest turned sideways, in a sunbeam. Sunthraze finally smiled back. She teased him with the envelope again, "And this. Don't you want to see what it might maybe be? Please? It's my job to make sure you get it safely this time. And… read it."

"So. My letter to you-know-who royally sucked and you all are arresting me again. This time, there are formal papers to prove it.…"

Tempest strutted forward another step and stood closer to Sunthraze. He was about tall enough to be chest-height. Sunthraze blushed, took the envelope, then wandered off a pace or two instead.

"You know," he started laughing, halfway through opening the letter, "Some women are coy. Do you know what coy is?"

"Nope."

"You know, I don't know why I even bothered to ask you that…" he ripped the envelope and Tempest jumped. Sunthraze looked up at her, confused.

"Oh, my. The way you open an envelope…"

Sunthraze cleared his throat with embarrassment and went on, "Coy women tease you, in a far more subtle fashion than you're doing now… or they flatter you. They let you know that, if you have the courage to ask, they might say yes… to a date. Or, to a… witch's brew by the bonfire in your case."

Tempest lingered there, watched him read it. "So, you _are_ taking me out, then? I can't wait to put my witch's hex on you."

"Poor country bumpkin, remember? Where would we even go." Sunthraze was deadpan as he read the letter. Tempest distracted him momentarily, by coming over and actually petting his long red hair. "…Okay, that's just creepy."

"But you're so happy about me being creepy, though."

"You know what this is about already, don't you?" Then, Sunthraze came to the end of the letter. "Oh, I get it. That… blonde, decorated gorilla and his bedheaded crony, they're the ones who want a date. And they sent you to tempt me into it."

Then, Sunthraze leaned into her touch, "…That does feels nice."

"I confess that I was excited about the assignment. I don't… seduce just anybody, you know… for work? Sometimes, Farstriders on assignment do need to use deception. But I have to be into it first. Those who are really, really good at sekuu are the real creepers. They're happy to jump on anyone they have to interrogate. Not me."

Sunthraze smiled as she stroked more deeply into his hair, "…You have a weird life."

"I'm also under orders to bring you in this time, no matter what. Sunthraze, if we go right now, we'll have a few hours to kill, too. It's not till this evening. So… why not? You can't possibly object to that."

"Uh…?"

"Good. Want to escort me back?" her voice was incredibly gentle then, sylvan. The most normal this woman had sounded after several encounters. Then, she pulled on his hair a little and made him look up.

"Do you like me?" and when Sunthraze hesitated to say, "Alright. Answer that question first. I'll let you buy yourself some time before you foolishly decide to defy Britecleff again."

Sunthraze went to sit on a haystack. "I've uh… never met a girl like you before."

Tempest noticed a stool nearby, sat on it and crossed her legs.

"Your shoes are getting all mucky." Sunthraze pouted when she did.

"Oh… oh well. Nothing else I have goes with this dress, though. Anyway, I wanted you to see me in them."

Sunthraze became even more uncomfortable, "Yeah. You're kind of… well, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do, when you're not… Farstrider-ing?"

Tempest exhaled, thinking. She crossed arms beneath her breasts and leaned over. "I almost never have time for anything else. Well… I like to jog. I love to run."

"That's… normal." Sunthraze smiled with relief. He began to stare at her. "You run… a lot?"

"In the army, you have to, silly. Wait, what did you expect me to say?"

"Something like… you had your exes' heads mounted over the fireplace at home. Or that they were stuffed in various frightened poses, cowering before your might."

Tempest shook her head. "Me mighty? Am I mighty?"

"…Yeah."

"Sunthraze, you're not really afraid of me, are you?"

"Eh…uh… eyeaaaah?" he winced at the end.

"You sure know the way to a girl's heart." Tempest sat up straight and folded hands over her knee. "Well, I have a confession, too. Honestly, Sunthraze, I don't know why I'm so intense with you. It's…my instinct or something. I just want to be around you, to hear your voice. Eventhough I don't know you." Her gaze wandered, "I was really glad when Britecleff told me I was going to be the one to bring the letter to your place. To you. Anyway… I know that's kind of awful."

"Yeah?"

"You have a few more words you're capable of saying to me?"

Sunthraze looked back over to the barn, then the farmhouse.

"Is mommy watching us?"

Sunthraze gave her an annoyed look. Then, his mood lightened a bit. "You know, I play the guitar, too."

"How did you already know I play the guitar? Oh…" then she laughed, "That time in the hallway. I always make up songs when I'm bored. I was just practicing a chord or two. It's the only chance I get."

"You can't keep a guitar at the barracks?"

"Eh… people always want to borrow it. Sometimes you never get it back. And that's when you have the privilege to even have one. I keep losing my… priveleges." Tempest looked elsewhere for a moment.

Sunthraze's palms felt sweaty, but he was going to do it, dammit, "Why don't I go get my guitar? You could play it. I have two, actually."

"Do you mean right now? Or…"

"Yeah, now. Immediately." Then, he calmed himself, "Well, I can't give you one to borrow for later. But… you know, we could play for a few minutes while you're here." He had a new breath, "So…yeah?"

Tempest folded hands in front of her skirt. "Oh, I'd love it. I'd really, really love it."

"This is so cool—I never meet girls who also play the guitar. I'll be right back! Don't go anywhere."

Tempest wandered a little circle while she waited. A hungry Hawkstrider cocked its head at her.

"Hey now," she shooed it playfully, "Get your own handsome, handy farmboy."

Sunthraze came back, one guitar slung across his chest with a strap. The other he held by the neck, letting the body rest over his shoulder.

They went into the barn, where it was dry. Sunthraze helped Tempest to sit comfortably on a few bales of hay. The hay smelled sweet. Then, he walked back the way they'd come and hauled the big doors open. Sunlight flooded in.

"It can be beautiful, in a barn." Tempest grinned, "I really didn't know. And everything is so… golden."

Sunthraze sat across from her, "You have my guitar. This one was my dad's."

"…Oh. I'm… sorry."

"It was a long time ago." Sunthraze put his fingers on the fingerboard, strummed a chord or two. "Don't be sorry, just play it. My treat."

Tempest smiled and pulled the guitar into her lap. She spread her legs and the long white and red skirt spread out beneath the guitar, a silken cascade.

Sunthraze tried not to notice that too much. Not that he could see anything. She was just so lovely, doing that.

"She's playing my guitar…" Sunthraze sang, improvised a tune.

"Oh, it's turning you on, is it?"

Sunthraze couldn't stop smiling after she said that. He played a friendly ballad about the Sunwell, something he hoped she'd know. Tempest played along, took a different chord that complimented his. They sang and played other songs. They harmonized, they raced each other. They must have played together for an hour, more. Tempest's playing was sweet, very kind. It was not how she normally behaved at all, and Sunthraze kept feeling that joke at the edge of this teeth, time and again. But he wasn't going to do that to her. Being at perfect peace with Tempest was so much nicer. Sunthraze eventually opened up, strumming as boldly as he liked, letting his voice get soulful. He kept eye contact with her, while he sang. Tempest stopped and listened a few times, because she enjoyed hearing him so much.

"You ever make up a song?" she asked him, unable to hide the delight in her smile, her hand lightly stroking up and down the neck of the guitar. If it had been a cat, she would have been petting it. And it would have been purring. Sunthraze warned Tempest about that, stealing his guitar's affections. She smiled and shook her head at him.

He shrugged, then answered her question, "Well… I mean, you mess around. But I get more joy out of being methodical, memorizing what's already out there, getting the technique perfect. The songs I know and like. I'm not sure if I'd be… brave enough to make up something of my own." He chuckled, "I mean, what if it sounds stupid, you'd never know."

"You play it for someone else, first."

Sunthraze looked at the straw on the floor. "I couldn't do that. Too much pressure."

Tempest began to play again. It was familiar, but then Sunthraze tried to place his fingers and follow hers. No, he couldn't match it. So, it was new. He hugged his father's guitar, listened.

 _I know it isn't perfect,  
But somehow it just feels worth it,  
And I like to see him all the tiiime._

 _He smiles at me so sweetly,  
Even when he's being mean and,  
Still I don't mind to pass the tiiime,_

 _I met him accidentally on purpose,  
But somehow it just feels worth it,  
Maybe if we give it some more tiiime?_

 _I don't know where this is leading,  
But I'm so glad for our first meeting,  
I hope we'll be singing all the tiiime._

She played a few more verses, no singing. Sunthraze started to turn red.

"Go on. Your turn." She grinned at him like a cat. "Just fit in the word 'time' at the end."

"Uh…"

Tempest sang some more before he could. It got bolder. She sped it up, slapped the guitar at intervals.

 _I know he thinks he's hot stuff!  
And I can see that he is so tough,  
I mean, I check him out all the tiiime!_

 _He's cute when his eyes are pleading,  
'Please somebody, need me.'  
Baby, I'd love to need you all the tiiime!_

 _Maybe he's a good dancer?  
Liar or a hero, I can't ask him-  
Cause he won't take me out, anytiiime._

 _He's kind of rebel punk, but  
Soon I'll just jack his junk and,  
Then I'll be happy all the tiiiiime!_

"Okay, Tempest, that was awful."

"Some women have pretty white lace on their panties… you're giving me cobwebs, Sunthraze."

"Okay… okay, that was worse." But he was laughing too hard at her.

She played for a while more, then, impatient, "It's your turn! Come on!"

Sunthraze was really nervous about it. He had a few stutter-starts. Then came what he really wanted to tell her,

 _I think she's bat-shit crazy,  
She insists she's not a lady,  
But yet I just want to wine and dine her…_

 _Damn, I guess I'm bad at improvising,  
I forgot about rhyme and timing,  
But it's because of how much I liiike her,_

 _When she blushes,  
I get distracted!  
My imagination,  
Over-active!_

 _I think I like her all the tiiiiime!_

 _You know, she wants to rush me,  
And it gets harder, and harder, and harder…  
To fiiiight her!_

"Just when it was getting good."

 _I wonder if she'll still be so naughty,  
Once I finally have her body,  
And have my chance to deliiiight her,  
Like she delights me all the time._

Tempest raised her guitar into her lap again, harmonized with him. She smiled for him and also focused on enjoying the song itself. The song raised and spread out all around the barn. It was simply beautiful. It was so to them, and to Sunthraze's mother who was certainly, secretly listening out. To the neighbors who would tease Sunthraze about it later.

At last, they sang together, Sunthraze taking the first line, Tempest filling in after.

 _I know she thinks she's hot stuff…_

 _I hope he knows I like it rough…_

 _But I intend to take my time._

 _We don't have to go on so many dates first,_

 _I wasn't raised like that. I bow and tip my hat…_

 _In the end you're wasting my tiiime!_

 _What do you do when she's not afraid to love you?_

 _And he won't just take advantage?_

Together, _Are we running out of tiiiime?_

 _Why won't she do her own part? Relax and let me make a start…_

 _Boy, you keep running through my miiiiind…_

 _Sweetheart, as long as we're together…_

 _But it already feels like forever._

 _I love that this will be our first time…_

 _Sunthraze, I love that this is our first time._

 _Tempest, I can't wait for our first tiiiime._

Tempest finished, unable to look at him for a while. Sunthraze couldn't meet her eyes, either. He kept the song going, then played them out.

Tempest set Sunthraze's guitar down carefully. She climbed over and sat next to him, while he played a few light notes. Some other pretty song he knew. Tempest lay her head on his shoulder.

"Are you done being a spy, with me? That… sekuu stuff? I'd like you to cut it out."

"…Okay."

"Was that a real song, just now?"

She cuddled into him while he played, suddenly far too shy to answer.

"… Good."

"And you didn't even have to beat up anyone. Not like before."

"I knew I could win the girl, if I just gave it some time." He looked over while he played, waited for Tempest to kiss him.

She did.

 **S** unthraze put up the guitars after that, and then he walked Tempest to the gate by the road.

"Sunthraze, it's not going to be that easy, you know… If you're looking for more. I barely know you and we've not even been out yet."

"So you admit it. Sex is one thing, love is another. Love is the trickier part."

She leaned on the other side of the fence. "Well, I guess we agree on that."

"Maybe we always did."

She waved goodbye and walked away, "So… Do you love me, then?"

Sunthraze hopped over the fence and followed Tempest down the road.

"And are you coming with me today, after all? Loverboy?"

"I can't. But I can walk you all the way back to your Hawkstrider. That's a few more feet."

They both looked at her bright blue Farstrider mount in its armor, a Hawkstrider picking at pebbles in the yellow dust road.

Sunthraze took her hand.

"What does your tattoo say?"

"I really don't want you to know what it says, Tempest. I've been warned about it since you first saw it, so I kind of regret it now."

She rolled her eyes, then offered, "We could have dinner at your house?"

"I couldn't guarantee that my mother wouldn't be in the house. Since it's really her house."

"I don't understand about this… silly manly foolish pride thing, wanting to spend a lot of money on me. I really, really don't care about any of that."

"Not a lot of money, just some. And it isn't… foolish. It means something to me, right? And yes, I do have my pride. I'm… proud of my pride."

"I don't know. A lot of ancient heroes suffered and died by the hands of the gods because of hubris-"

"No pressure." Sunthraze finished that sentence for Tempest, eyed her. Then, "Why does it always, always feel like I'm the girl and you're the guy, whenever we get together?"

"I'll do my best, Sunnyfaze…" Tempest untied her Hawkstrider mount, "I can see something's up with you, that you're trying to work out. I can respect that. And maybe I even… hurt you. Before."

"It's not that. Trust me, I… It isn't that. I know I was locked up and you were just doing your job. That sekuu stuff."

"Well, I don't think anyone can wait forever. I can't promise you anything if you won't even… well, I hope that you do try."

"That's fair."

She mounted up, a flare of white and red dress that was far more cheerful than their conversation. When Tempest got the reins in her hands properly, she frowned, "You already sound like you're giving up."

Sunthraze looked up the road, and then back down the road. No nosey neighbors. Not yet. He unhitched his overalls, curled the top down some, so she could fully read the tattoo on his bare stomach.

He said, "I promise I will sort things out. But this is something to tide you over, since you keep asking me about it."

BON BOUMA BAROVA

His tattoo read.

"Is that… Trollish?"

"It's a stupid tattoo, but it's not like I can take it back now. So… you satisfied? You're going to hang in there for me and also stop asking me about it?"

"I kill Trolls, I don't read their language."

Sunthraze blew out an embarrassed breath. All that for nothing.

"No reason to clothe yourself again, though—" she beamed and mounted up.

"Alright, go. And don't worry about it. Just have a good day. Have fun playing with the… sailors, Tempest."

"Maybe I will." She teased him, "I may have to, after seeing all that. You know, if the Farstrider thing doesn't work out, you could always strip for a living."

Tempest walked her Hawkstrider around him, in a circle, sizing him up like she was a naughty stray and she was the one herding Hawkstriders. She mimed lassoing him up to drag him back off with her to the flock. Then Tempest blew him a kiss instead, and rode off.

Sunthraze walked over to the fence, leaned on it while he watched her go. Other than feeling somehow… used, for taking his clothes off partway so she could stare-and he was starting to notice Tempest was very good at making him feel that way whether she was being a spy or not-he was happy.

Used, and happy. What an intense, wonderful warm woman. Fire incarnate.

"Maybe I loved her just in time…"


	12. Hotter than a shiva in a fel volcano

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

 _Once upon a time in Dalaran…_

There was this guy, named Faltheriel Darkweaver, who Kael'thas vaguely remembered from different shadow spell classes that he had taken over the last four years. Kael'thas had never remembered him, never truly noticed him, until now, after graduation. They were the only two Highborne working in the Spectral Laboratory on a Plague serum over the summer.

Faltheriel could be very irritating and he kept looking over his shoulder at everything that Kael'thas was doing. Kael'thas was a little used to it, being somewhat of a celebrity wherever he went, but Kael'thas now shifted aside so that his back was facing Faltheriel.

"How is your experiment holding up?"

Somehow, Kael'thas was very sure that Faltheriel hoped to ask him something else, like it was all leading to some grand invitation for them to run off to the tavern afterwards and become best friends. Or, worse. Faltheriel could be so intense.

"It's… fine."

" 'Fine' is not very descriptive. I mean, this is for the records. Dean Sweeney asked me to keep very detailed records, Kael'thas."

"Then it's not coagulating at the rate that we thought. Better?"

"That does not sound fine, like a good situation, to me."

"Right, but it's about what we expected—"

"By what percentage is it not what we expected, though?"

"Faltheriel…" Kael'thas growled, hunched his shoulders.

"It's just that I think you and I could greatly improve our communication skills if we—"

"No."

"No, what? I didn't even get to ask you anything, yet."

"I'm the one running this whole experiment, I'm the lab master, I'm the graduate, I'm the one in line to join the Kirin Tor sometime soon, I'm sure. Not you. Okay? When I say something is fine, it's damn well fine!"

"… … You're being very snippy today, my Prince."

Kael'thas had been sitting around in his room, brooding, and using too many arcane crystals of late. Then, he fell back on his other little obsession, experimenting with his warlock spells. It wasn't the studious part of the conjuring he liked, the research he did before trying a new, riskier spell… he knew that it was the fel magic itself, the rush that brought him to the brink of bliss, similar to the arcane crystals. Most Highborne used arcane crystals, but even Kael'thas knew that he would be approaching a limit very soon if he didn't slow down. He was just very, very stressed with everyting going on.

And then, he learned that Dean Sweeney had a few quests—err, projects—for students who could make themselves available after right graduation. Dalaran and the Humans, naturally, were grateful for any help they could get with the Plague, and happily offered room, board, meals and course credit to anyone willing to stay on campus during the summer. Kael'thas, of course, being royalty and done with all his studies (he'd graduated with a degree in 'all the magics', if you recall), did not need any of these things. And that embarassed him a bit, that the others surely noticed that about him, that there was no real point to him still being in Dalaran by now—but Kael'thas had made up his mind that he wasn't leaving Dalaran without Jaina, period. So he was going to find a reason to stay. He did care about the Plague in any case—he was, indeed, very concerned about how it affected everything in the Eastern Kingdoms, like a lot of the Dalaran University students were—and then it also helped him to keep his mind off… other things.

 _In the end, I distracted myself. I remained focused on what truly mattered, adapting to my current situation and finding a way out of my current situation. I guess it was with the same singlemindedness that a priest focuses solely on the Light when they face a difficulty… is that weird? I didn't think I had that sort of faith in me…_

Kael'thas looked at the unfolded paper in front of him. Since he got the letter from Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze, he found himself re-reading it, especially that passage, many times. Kael'thas had already read about Sunthraze's arrest in the newspapers, but the inside story was fascinating. And it was uncomfortable, somewhat, that Sunthraze had also written asking him for money after his release. Then again, as a Sunstrider, it came with the territory. But hearing from Sunthraze again, after so many years… That one letter created this soothing feeling that was hard to want to re-live, every single time that he read it. He'd kept the letter in his arcane magic textbook, then in his satchel, and once, when he almost dropped it in the street, Kael'thas moved the folded letter to his pocket and left it there for the last couple of days.

It did occur to him that it might be enchanted or something, like if someone had been trying to play a trick on him? But no, Kael'thas finally admitted to himself that it was the perfect thing for him to receive in the mail, during all the hell that was his life, recently. Official decrees brought by royal messengers for him to sign, letters from his father asking when he would come home, The obligatory letter from his step-mother each month that was patently passive aggressive… Advisor Sorn's protests about the way Kael'thas was handling his whole life… then, at last, a warm note from a friend. From Sunthraze. Kael'thas also secretly hoped he wasn't actually that lonely.

Kael'thas had a few clean empty vials around him, and one burner with the largest vial suspended over it, hovering with the help of nearly imperceptible arcane magic. Green liquid bubbled and steamed away while he waited for it to purify.

When Faltheriel tried to look over again, Kael'thas picked up his clipboard and pencil, scribbled anything on it.

Really, the work with the Humans was meant to distract him from him from his life, in the same way that he was currently trying to use the letter from Sunthraze to distract himself from his work. Kael'thas wondered how Jaina was doing. Surely, she'd come around soon and want to speak to him again. Either she'd come to her senses or the ring would draw her to him at least one more time. That was precisely how he designed it, hadn't he? It'd been almost a month, right?!

"Aww… who wrote that to you?"

Kael'thas snatched the letter back up and refolded it.

"Oh… Do you have a secret admirer, Kael'thas?" Faltheriel waggled his fair eyebrows.

"No."

"Other than Jaina Proudmoore?"

Kael'thas tensed again.

"I can't believe you got engaged like that and didn't tell anyone—"

"Shh! It's… well, it's just not public knowledge yet."

"Another royal wedding! I love those! A beautiful spring day, or summer—early summer isn't so bad. Crowds cheering along the parade route, red and gold phoenixes everywhere. You dressed up in your military regalia, her in the dress… a designer gown! And all those speeches, all those stars coming from far and wide. Then interviewing people on the street, fans of Jaina crooning over how they missed their chance to marry her, and then of course, your personal cadre of fangirls, claiming they missed the chance to snap you up, Kael'thas—"

"Ugh, Faltheriel…"

"So romantic, and something we Highborne could all really be proud of. The perfect holiday. I can't wait!"

Kael'thas set the folded letter down again, "Well, I suppose I would love it too, obviously." He chanced a glance back over at Faltheriel. "And you know, I would make it such a perfect day for her. A wedding for her to always remember."

"Where do you want to go on your honeymoon?"

"Actually, Northrend is nice this time of year."

"Skiing!" Faltheriel clasped hands together, brightened, "I can just see the two of you, cozied up by the fire after a crisp day on the slopes."

"Well, Jaina doesn't ski. But I'm sure I could teach her."

"Oh, you can do anything, Kael'thas…" then, Faltheriel stopped himself, because he was smiling far too much. He leaned down and checked something off on his clipboard instead. He then took some tongs and placed a vial over the burner on his side. Blue flame raised up and the green ichor sample that he had began to turn murky.

Kael'thas raised his eyes to the lone door on the other side of the lab. There was a plaque next to it. Whatever was through that door, down in the basement, was giving him a strange feeling. He'd felt it since beginning his work in the lab some weeks before. Usually, he'd just run down there and indulge. The best weird things could be found in Dalaran basements, and he was all but confimed that was some kind of strong… fel energy.

Then again, he was trying, and hard, to cut back. Overindulging fel energy was the gateway to a lot of rotten habits he'd read far too much about over the last four years. The kinds of things that could completely corrupt a warlock. Like sleeping with your succubus, doing strange soul-twisting experiments alone in your room to see how much you could take… Kael'thas didn't want that to get any worse. Really, he had a lot of odd hobbies, didn't he? And these… secret activities… always made him bad-tempered when he got used to indulging in them, but then he suddenly couldn't because he had to get back to normal life. That was probably what made him snap at Jaina in the first place, after the night they slept together.

"Another ineffective batch," Kael'thas dryly observed. Why was real life so damned boring all the damned time? Well, he also reasoned that most normal people weren't stuffing down an almost perverted obsession with demon magic.

Faltheriel was saying, "…Yes. Doomweed doesn't help. We'll have to try gloomweed again. Probably a higher concentration of it."

Kael'thas made a note in the same large record book nearby, made a scholarly smirk, "Whenever we do serum analysis, why does it sound like we're the ones working for the Lich King?"

And he said it a little too loudly for the tastes of the Humans bending over the other long metal tables in the lab. A few annoyed looks went their way.

Faltheriel whispered, "Highborne will never be fully welcome in Dalaran, I fear."

Kael'thas further confided, "Do you know what I really wanted to work on, that Dean Sweeney wouldn't let me get within arm's reach of? That memory deteriotion spell. Now that's a fascinating line of research, but the Humans are going about it all wrong. But if they let us Highborne in on it, we'd get it right off the ground."

"That's top secret Violet Hold stuff, Kael'thas! I mean, it leaked in the papers, but I thought only I knew who was managing that particular line of research."

Kael'thas whispered back, "And I thought I was the only one too, till now. You and I should pack up this little circus side show, Faltheriel, and get to work on the real stuff. I already have a few theories of my own."

"Same here. Kael'thas, I am so with you the _moment_ you break down that door for us Highborne." He sighed, unhappily, "One of these days..."

Kael'thas watched Faltheriel go to the wood paneled wall behind them. Lots of square drawers with elegant metal handles meant for one finger to hook through and slide them out, one by one. Faltheriel tried a few labeled 'Gloomweed Mixture' until he found the right type.

Kael'thas kept wanting to turn his head and look over at the door to the basement again. It was starting to feel… seductive, somehow.

Kael'thas blew out a bored breath, then turned back to observing the only other Elf in the room. Faltheriel was trim, excellently groomed, and fairer than himself. Kael'thas looked elsewhere for a moment, a smidgin perturbed at another male Elf being more attractive, more capable, and let's face it, more normal than he was. Mostly. Faltheriel probably got all the Human ladies with none of the problems… Wait, was Faltheriel wearing mascara?

"So, Kael'thas!" Faltheriel placed the bundle of gloomweed on the table, "Let me tell you about this guy I met last week over drinks at Cantrips…"

Or, all of the guys, with none of the drama.

It made Kael'thas feel relieved for a reason he didn't want to think about too much. Probably knowing that there was a little less Elf competition in the dating pool, around Dalaran. Eventhough he was with Jaina. Or, was he? Well, Kael'thas reasoned he did have his pride.

Faltheriel went on gossiping about himself, excitedly, "…But, you know, I'm already seeing this nice girl. Or, I think I am? You know how those things are. So I probably shouldn't encourage him."

"…Oh."

"Oh?"

"I didn't know… well, that's nice, to hear you're dating people. Different kinds of people. I'm not dating anyone." Kael'thas frowned. And then, before Faltheriel could correct him, "You know, this is a letter from an old friend, since you did ask—he just got out of jail," before Faltheriel could interrupt again, "long story—but he's even seeing someone! Well, he mentioned about this girl he met while he was locked up! That's just crazy."

Faltheriel put a hand on his hip, waited.

"Well, I mean, I do have Jaina."

"Yes, you do." Faltheriel put a hand on Kael'thas' shoulder, encouraging him.

Kael'thas tried not to flinch. They weren't exactly best friends. Or, friends. Or acquaintences. It was strange, Faltheriel kept finding reasons to talk to him like they were, or to touch him. Wasn't he doing that?

"But it's still… stupid." Kael'thas furrowed his brow, "Everyone has an easy time with it but me, just because I'm royalty. Things get so… stupidly complicated when it comes to dating, sex, everything."

"Now, Kael'thas…" Faltheriel patted his back again, a little lower this time. Kael'thas paused reaching for the next vial he needed for the experiment. He had this acute visceral reaction to Faltheriel in that moment for some reason. Kael'thas had to slow down or else freak out completely.

"My dear prince, you are a wonderful, attractive person with all of your natural teeth."

"Uh, what do my teeth have anything to do with it?" Kael'thas laughed nervously.

Faltheriel went on, and finally moved his hand, "It matters to certain celebrity collectors, but never mind that. My point is, you will win the lady, your truest love. You will marry him, and you will have a perfect royal wedding that I will have a personal invitation to and the whole kingdom will be very proud of."

"You… will? Wait, did you say 'him?'"

Faltheriel shrugged, smiled prettily, "My mistake."

The lights went out. All the students working in the lab looked up and made various noises of complaint at the arcane crystals in chandeliers, now dark.

"It will take forever for the magisters to get up here and repair those. It did the last time." Faltheriel folded his arms and complained.

"Everyone! Don't panic…" Kael'thas picked up a cloth from the table and wiped his hands. It was his job to see to it, as the lab master, "Faltheriel and I will go get this fixed right now."

"We will?!" Faltheriel brightened. Then, when Kael'thas flinched at him again, "I mean, of course, my prince."

"It's in the cellar. Besides… I've kinda been wanting to explore around, down there. Now I sort of have an excuse. You _can_ handle going down into the cellar with me, can't you?"

Faltheriel was going to say something inappropriate, obviously, from the mischevious look on his face. Instead, he snapped his mouth shut, folded hands behind his back and followed.

The sign on the wall by the stairs said that no one was permitted down in the cellar where the lei lines and arcane constructs were kept, except for the Dalaran University magisters, and it was even written in Thalassian. Both Faltheriel and Kael'thas boldly ignored it.

As soon as the two Highborne men left, the Humans started chatting loudly about how it was a such a horrible idea for them to go…

As Faltheriel and Kael'thas made their way down the staircase, they passed a sub-basement level that felt especially dark. It wasn't the lights, however. It was starting to feel like there was this… presence down in the cllar. Shadow magic, or fel… Kael'thas cleared his throat. It was honestly starting to turn him on.

"Is it warmer, down here?" Faltheriel wondered.

"I would never admit to that."

"Kael'thas, I think I heard they keep the warlock equipment down here. Is that what you mean?" Faltheriel tried to ease the tension both of them were feeling.

"No, that's in the Cluster. Or, in the Eighth Quad. Either where the warlocks study or sleep… not on this side of campus."

"…Oh." Faltheriel then cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"You're not scared, are you?" Kael'thas teased.

"You're the one who's squeezing that folded up letter in your pocket, like it's got some magical powers, like it's a protective trinket or something."

Kael'thas glowered, "I am not. I just don't want to drop it, that's all."

"What kind of 'old friend' is this fellow who makes you all excited about his letters, and who just got out of prison, hrm?" then, Faltheriel illogically snapped, "And you're going to risk a royal wedding over it!"

Kael'thas exhaled a very annoyed breath. Why he kept letting himself forget that he knew Faltheriel after every class, study session and work assignment with him, was starting to become very obvious.

For a Highborne, manipulating arcane magic was second nature, and so it always felt absurd that they were restricted from going into the cellars of university buildings and doing the equivalent of jiggering a light switch back on, for themselves. It was what both Highborne men ended up thinking, the deeper they went, the larger the warning signs in Thalassian became.

"Really, it's offensive." Kael'thas commented, without having to explain why to Faltheriel.

"Well, it doesn't offend me, actually. We're no experts. I am pretty annoyed though."

Funny, that was how Kael'thas was beginning to feel about Faltheriel. Not quite ready to snap him in half for being so irritating, but getting there, "But they act like we're all a bunch of addicts or something, unable to control ourselves. Like we're going to run up and… and hump anything made of arcane magic if there isn't a sign or a guard to stop us on this campus. It's almost obscene. I'm so glad I finally graduated…"

"Well, we do all live near the Sunwell."

"Right, that's what I mean. We all live right near the Sunwell, we're used to it, so what are they worried about?"

"Aren't we all a little dependent on arcane magic, though? There are some studies that say Highborne are becoming a kingdom of arcane addicts."

"…Human studies, I bet." Kael'thas grumbled, "And all that stops the moment, no, the very second I marry Jaina. I am going to make sure that marriage changes everything."

"Oh, now you're marrying her again. Before you weren't sure."

Kael'thas noticed that Faltheriel was getting testy. Both of them were getting irritated. There was something, no… someone, down in that basement making both of their magical Highborne instincts get defensive. With his warlock training and experience in so many other areas, it was almost clear to Kael'that at this point.

And Faltheriel must have been thinking precisely along those lines as well, whether he realized it or not, "Kael'thas. I want to go back upstairs."

Really, they should have found the generator for the lights, by then. In addition to the warning signs in Thalassian, the arcane machinery must have also been hidden, or needed to be puzzled out by someone with the proper training, who understood how things worked. A second safeguard against those who trespassed.

"Kael'thas… please?"

Kael'thas ignored Faltheriel.

They came to the final level. It was nearly all dark now, except for the faint blue glow that came from their eyes. Kael'thas opened his red gloved hand. A pale yellow flame ignited there. It hovered and swelled while Kael'thas modified it to the proper size, so that they could see. Old book bins, spider webs and stacked cages from experiment subjects. Some were animal-sized. Some were… man-sized.

Kael'thas walked a few more paces. Faltheriel crept behind.

"I hear something." Kael'thas said, but he was keeping his voice as calm as possible.

"I don't."

"You wouldn't, unless you came to stand near me. Right here, Faltheriel."

Faltheriel refused.

"Oh-ho! Before it was, 'I can't wait to follow Prince Kael'thas down into a dark basement where we can be alone together—"

"I try not to make my flirting that obvious, thank you very much."

"Don't thank me. I'm definitely not interested. Just to make that clear, while we're on the subject."

Faltheriel pouted. His long ears drifted down, slightly.

"Come on…" Kael'thas dared him, "You coward. We're some of the most powerful conjurers in the Eastern Kingdoms, specially selected to run these important experiments for the mighty Dean Sweeney during summer break…"

Faltheriel huffed laughter.

"…At least I know I am." Kael'thas' dared to use his rich voice, to try and entice his partner in crime. Kael'thas was starting to get very eager for the prize, himself, "Are you sure you don't want to hear it, Faltheriel?"

"What is it?"

"It's… breathing. That's the noise."

Faltheriel went back and gripped the railing to the stairs. "I want to go back up and join the Humans, Kael'thas. We're no better than them, we're all horrible and pathetic together. That's what I decided."

"Seriously, though. You should stay in my light. I wouldn't hang out in the shadows down here, if I were you."

Faltheriel hastily re-joined him in the pale circle of yellow light. Something skittered by their toes and Faltheriel yelped, grabbed Kael'thas.

Kael'thas gave him a look.

"You were the closest thing to grab!"

"Usually, you don't grab someone by both lovehandles. Will you cut it out!"

"Ohmygods…" Faltheriel let go and raised both blonde eyebrows. "I do hear it. It _is_ breathing… like you said. And it sounds so tortured! Is it dying?"

"It's even breathing, though. Growling, but even. Sort of like a jungle cat. I think it must be asleep."

"Does Dean Sweeney know it's down here?!"

"Probably, it's just an experiment. If it's still alive, then they must come down and feed it from time to time. Maybe it stays up all night long. I bet they secretly… tend to it, in the night."

Both Highborne men crept in further. Faltheriel covered his mouth with both hands.

"Why do we even want to see this thing?!"

"Shh! Don't wake it up…" Kael'thas was more than smiling, intrigued. The thrill was wonderful, singing to him by now, "We might as well get something out of being lost down here. And, I'll have something compelling to write home to Sunthraze."

"Sunthraze! The double Sunthraze? That nut who started the Silvermoon riots? He's the one writing to you?"

Something gleamed, when Kael'thas turned angrily with the light in his hand to face Faltheriel and defend his friend. Then, both men shared a look. Kael'thas turned back, brought his hand around slowly, this time. Faltheriel winced and squeezed Kael'thas' other arm.

A dusty shelf, a pile of books, several small cages, old ones, with feet carved at the bottom. The way some old furniture and bathtubs used to have clawed feet carved at the bottom. Then, the largest stone-carved claws of them all, supporting a frame of bars. They didn't know how high up they went. Kael'thas raised his hand.

Both he and Faltheriel held their breaths.

They didn't react at first, when they saw the face. It was a pleasant face, a feminine one. Odd, yet familiar. As their eyes settled on it, as their senses became more comfortable with it, their gentile instincts made them not want to upset or startle… her. And she stood behind the bars with hands at her sides, perfectly still. Not breathing, not blinking. Though the eyes were as yellow as amber when Kael'thas held his hand and the small flame about there. He lowered his hand so that she wasn't irritated by the light. Or, was she real at all? She wasn't moving a stitch. Though Kael'thas and Faltheriel could have sworn they'd heard her… breathing, before. Faltheriel shook his head, was about to say that it was 'just a statue.'

Then, she blinked, smiled with pointed teeth. And suddenly the world came back, she was green, so green, and Faltheriel pulled on Kael'thas hard, to drag him out of there.

Both men ran up the stairs, breathless. When they got to the top, Faltheriel was red-faced and looked ready to cry. Kael'thas let out victorious laughter.

"You idiot! What if something happened to you and Sylvanas and all her Farstriders blamed me for your royal demise?"

Kael'thas was laughing so hard, though, he had to lean on the doorpost, "What a rush! Yes!"

"You're sick!"

"No, that was awesome!"

They couldn't have been down in the basement for long, but all the other students had left for the day. Except for one. She was seated on a stool by one of the long, metal tables. She stood when she saw Faltheriel and Kael'thas lingering by the 'Do Not Enter' sign clearly printed next to the basement stairs.

"…Lady Jaina?"

Jaina Proudmoore looked from Faltheriel to Kael'thas.

"Hey, Faltheriel." Jaina swept the hand with the red and black ring through her long hair. She took a calming breath, and then eyes flitted to Kael'thas.

"Lady Proudmoore," Faltheriel suddenly got all his compsure back, "Let me be the first to congratulate you on your engagement and to personally offer myself as a wedding consultant—"

"Go away, Faltheriel." Kael'thas said next.

Faltheriel backed off slowly, hands folded behind his back. Then, he strolled away and let himself out into the sunlight, through the double doors on that side of the lab. All laboratories in Dalaran let out into a small garden on one end other than the main entrance, just in case they needed to air out the place for an experiement, or run from a fire…

Faltheriel also might have been whistling the wedding march as he went, though Jaina and Kael'thas were too distracted to really be listening to it.

"…Hey." She regarded Kael'thas with even less interest than she had shown strange Faltheriel.

Kael'thas put a fist in his pocket. His fingers crunched Sunthraze's letter.

"Funny. You don't sound engaged to me at all, right now. Though you've still got my ring on your finger."

"Can we talk?" she eyed him, then walked the same way Faltheriel had gone. Back out into the light.

There was a small green gate from the garden, back out to the tree-lined main road. Faltheriel had clearly gone off that way himself, as it was left open. But now, as Kael'thas and Jaina sat in the secluded garden, and he listened to her explain, once more, about all the hardship his mother's ring had caused her, Kael'thas' fingers tensed and his nails began to dig into the paper in his pocket, bore holes into the letter from Sunthraze.

Then, Kael'thas thought of how much he had been enjoying those words, that genuinely kind sentiment from back home. It came back to him…

 _I remained focused on what truly mattered, adapting to my current situation and finding a way out of my current situation…_

"Jaina, I can't get the ring off of your finger. Only you can do that, and figuring out how is the whole point. That's the way it works, and I'm sorry that it's been making you so unhappy, that you only felt safe enough to come and speak with me now." Kael'thas heard himself saying that. He couldn't believe he was saying that, being so diplomatic about it. He certainly felt worse, like he wanted to yell. Possibly, it was the intense fel and arcane magic he was missing. But it also felt like she and him had made no progress, since he first proposed. Well, since he made her wear the ring, "Is there anything else that I can do, to help you with the situation that you and I are both in, right now?"

She tensed, then looked confused. Like she hadn't expected him to be so direct or considerate with her. Up until that moment, Jaina herself had been speaking quickly, anxious and defensive.

Kael'thas gently tried it again, "Do you have a better sense of how you feel… about me? Aside from this situation."

"There is no 'aside from this situation', Kael'thas! Honey, this is all a big part of how I _have_ to feel about you, the way you've been treatin' me!"

 _I guess it was with the same singlemindedness that a priest focuses solely on the Light when they face a difficulty…_

"Alright, I…" Kael'thas swallowed, "I hear you. I hear what you are saying to me. From now on, I will try to be…" it took him a while to get it out, "More approachable."

"Less insane!"

"…Yes. And I am very sorry that I came off as anything… less than gentile, and… and as a man very in love with you, who has a great deal of adoration and respect for you, before."

Jaina sank back on the green painted garden bench. Ivy leaves had been carved on the feet and armrests. Kael'thas had been sitting on a low wall nearby, that was surrounding a fountain. It poured softly from the mouth of a blue laquer sagefish leaping from the center. Kael'thas got up, then came near, chanced a seat next to her.

Jaina looked straight ahead. She was still nervous, but she was letting him do this. Kael'thas feared to even breathe and ruin that moment.

"You sound like you are actually hearing me, like you said. Which is… which is weird, you know, for you."

"I got some inspiration, recently. A letter from a friend."

"You wrote to someone about us!"

He raised a hand, spread fingers in that red and gold embroidered glove, for her to calm. "No, but someone, a very kind… _undu'diel_ of mine, out there, he decided to write and share some insight. And it was very good timing. So you can relax. Please relax, Jaina. I don't want to do anything more to upset you."

She folded hands in her lap. "I don't want to ask what that strange Highborne word is, you just used."

"It means… something like a sidekick, from what I remember. It meant more in Dath'remar's time. Mostly, it's just slang for the intelligentsia to use, like myself." Kael'thas pretended to boast.

Jaina was busy staring at the fountain. Sometimes, she tuned him out, he could tell.

Kael'thas sneaked a down along her body then, what she was wearing. A simple white lace dress with a blue sash around the middle. But she looked radiant in it.

He looked at the brick walls of the laboratory, the vines climbing up there and flowering. And Arthas still hadn't come to claim her yet? Or to try and kill him, yet? Arthas was an idiot.

Jaina's warmth, her light scent, her radiance…

"You really are different now, aren't you, Kael'thas? Thank your friend for me."

 _I didn't think I had that sort of faith in me…_

Kael'thas leaned back. He then rested an arm casually on the bench behind her. As if he might put an arm around her shoulders, next. Jaina looked at him, like she knew it was coming, but she didn't stop him.

Kael'thas tried it. Then, he hugged Jaina.

"You look very beautiful today, Jaina."

No, she was super hot. She was prettier than a succubus, seriously. Jaina was more smokin' than a shiva in a fel volcano!

Kael'thas silently thanked the maker he hadn't said that one out loud.

"…Decent of you to notice." Jaina also had this natural, regal bearing. There was a pure nobility of spirit within her, it was like he could actually see it, sometimes. But he was always making her so angry.

"Jaina. I will always notice how beautiful you are, and tell you so. When we are married."

"Or, you could just tell me now."

Kael'thas smiled at that, "Fair enough." He felt her shoulder, squeezed it. Then, the point of their conversation came back to him, "You were going to tell me something, before. Something important about, well, Arthas. I want to know what's been worrying you so much."

His calm tone, the tenderness, was having a real affect on Jaina and that was wonderfully obvious to him now. He looked down and took her hand. She let him do so. That felt really good to notice.

"Let me help you." He mouthed to her, "As much as I can help you, Jaina, please let me. I do love you."

She put her hand over his, felt the fine gold embroidery on the insides of the fingers. Likely, Jaina had never seen Elven gloves so exquisitely tailored before. They were also enchanted to feel especially soft at the touch—just something Highborne tailors liked to do, to keep patrons loyal to their brand. But Jaina began to smooth her whole hand over his, believing it was his own aura, arousing her senses.

And, Kael'thas tried not to make a big deal out of the fact that she was also letting his hand rest over her warm thigh.

"You look incredible. And this is very, very nice." Kael'thas couldn't hold that back anymore.

She inhaled an excited breath. He hadn't seen that in a long while, how she enjoyed the feel of his body as well.

Jaina looked at him intensely. Kael'thas decided he was going to kiss her.

Then, "Arthas cheated on me."

"…What?"

"We don't know who, me and daddy. But he _is_ going to find out. It happened during that stupid convocation in Stormwind. I found out that's where he was, instead of being at graduation. And I thought he was busy… beleaguered by zombies or something!"

Kael'thas thought through all the implications as quickly as he could. Wasn't it a good thing, well for him? Didn't it drive the wedge between Jaina and Arthas—so obviously there in the first place—even deeper? Kael'thas knew he was fiend enough to toss his mother's ring into the mix and split the crack between Jaina and Arthas that much further… but for Arthas to… he thought Arthas had worshipped Jaina. Arthas was certainly extremely territorial with her while at school. Really, only the war and the Plague itself had kept Arthas so far enough away from Jaina in the first place, for Kael'thas to finally make his move after four long years of waiting for any opening.

Kael'thas started to feel insecure all over again. He thought of the letter in his pocket and tried to stay focused on what the new situation with Arthas meant to him. Just himself and Jaina. And that he could get out of his situation, that yes, he could hope to and then execute that hope as well as any plan.

"And how do you feel about that? Are you alright, Jaina? I _am_ sorry that it happened."

"I don't think you really are."

"Maybe that's because he deserves to fail."

"And you don't deserve to win!"

Kael'thas leaned his head back, exasperated with the same argument happening all over again.

But that in and of itself was enough for Jaina. She stood up and got away from him. She covered her face and fumed.

"Look, here's the thing-I made him so upset, Kael'thas, I really let him down. And he knows about us, obviously. That's why he retaliated!"

"But it's not the first time he's cheated on you."

"And just how do you know that?"

Kael'thas crossed his arms.

"I know him better than anyone! You're just making assumptions. Yes, he's a big flirt, but it never goes farther than that. I can trust Arthas. You're the one I can't trust!"

Kael'thas growled, "I'm offering you marriage. The only thing that puffed-up paladin fool ever offered you was a roll in the hay every weekend and during holiday breaks. That should be so obvious to you by now, Jaina! What is wrong with you?"

"How could you say something like that to me!"

Kael'thas leaned over his knees, a very dark look on his face, "I just. Did."

Jaina looked panicked all over again. Kael'thas instantly regretted how he'd put it. She weaved around him when he reached for her. She got out of the garden, she ran away. He heard her crying. It was just the same as before…

Kael'thas felt his heart beating in his chest, so hard. He began to feel incredibly angry.

Kael'thas went back inside the lab. He propped the doors open so that at least some sunlight could come in. The lab assistants had put all his equipment away. He leaned down, opened the cabinet and set it all back up again. He opened the record book, got his clipboard out, sharpened his pencil. Three pencils. He was meticulous and carefully measured every ingredient. There were more important things in the world, weren't there? He could be curing the Plague itself right now! He was focused and he was determined. He wasn't going to feel tempted to… to erupt again or do something else stupid, just because Jaina gave him a hard time.

Then, the pencil point broke. Kael'thas covered his face.

The laboratory was quieter than ever before. Kael'thas barely heard the fountain and the birds outside. Calm down. The lab was clean, it was sane, it was safe. Kaell'thas then pulled Sunthraze's letter out of his pocket, uncrumpled it. Maybe he could just respond to Sunthraze's letter. Wasn't he always going to? Didn't he have to? At least… maybe it was a way for him to… Someone to tell. He didn't have anyone to talk about it with, not really.

Kael'thas ripped a page out of the record book, sat on the stool nearby, began to scribble something, anything…

 _Dear Sunthraze… a very thoughtful letter… I wonder if you would consider…_

But he couldn't expect Sunthraze to care? To open up to him completely like that, after so many years? What if someone even found and read his letter? They'd know how insecure, how freaked out he was, that he didn't really know the first thing about what he was doing with Jaina.

Then, Kael'thas looked up and he saw the sign by the basement door. The sign that was only for Highborne, telling them what to do, telling them they didn't belong. But he did belong, dammit! He was the smartest, most capable bloodmage in the place—in fact, a master in all of the schools of magic-hadn't he invented it!

And the garden outside, where Jaina rejected him also. Kael'thas began to feel hemmed in. He was feeling… A daring look crossed his features. He got up, snatched the letter off the table and went directly down into the basement.

Kael'thas didn't know why he was sure, only that he was absolutely certain that the thing in the basement wanted to see him again. It was the same good warlock instinct that had guided Kael'thas through countless successful experiments and discoveries all through his schooling. He didn't like to neglect a feeling like that. A reward, a real reward was connected with seeing this dangerous creature again, studying it, understanding it. And she wanted to be understood. Desperately. Whosever project she was, they had forgotten about her, badly neglected her. So he was going to go into the 'no Elf' zone and he was going to succeed where they failed!

It was a darker instinct, it was an insane way of thinking. It was impulsive and illogical and it had told Jaina she was an idiot in not so many words and sent her running away, in tears, yet again. It was the part of himself that always swerved toward danger, but he secretly loved it. He craved it. He needed the rush, to lose control, to feel that bliss.

A cold, clear thought filled his mind when he reached the bottom of the stairs. This was not something that Sunthraze would do.

"I'm not supposed to be here." Kael'thas told himself. He had to say it out loud, "This is dangerous and no one knows where I am. I shouldn't just… give in like this. To my frustrations, to my hate for… this place, and this stupid crap with Jaina, this unholy everything that I have to deal with every day, in and out, never being… good enough!"

He lowered his gloved hand with the flame he'd been using to light his way. He gripped the railing for the stairs. But he still couldn't decide to go.

"Kael'thasss…"

Kael'thas raised his eyebrows. He took a step nearer.

"Ksskssskss…"

She was almost… purring to him?

Kael'thas walked closer. Once more, he saw the clawed feet, larger, and larger, like an army of demons and beasts standing at attention in front of him. Knowing he would soon, and steeling himself for it, the light passed over those gleaming yellow eyes again.

They were reptilian. He took a nervous breath. How had he missed it all before? She was a Naga. Extremely dangerous, indeed. Forbidden to be anywhere near Human lands.

"How do you know me?" he tried to sound confident, but he came only a little closer. "What do you want from me?"

"Your smile." She winced, at the light in her eyes. Kael'thas lowered it, but he was still transfixed by the presence of such a rare, such a truly deadly creature. It wasn't how a Naga fought, he'd read. It was how they thought, how they… planned things. She was certainly not there, beneath the lab he had chosen to work in for the summer, by some accident.

"You want more than just my smile… my lady."

She preened and looked very pleased at him calling her that.

"Your friendship, then. Your trussst, your power, your resourcesss. Your armies, your guile, your magnificent intelligence." She rasped. But her voice, her presence was also intoxicating. It was hard not to fantasize, about possessing her power completely, as his warlock pet. Could he… would she let him do that?

"An… alliance, with the Naga? The Highborne are already, actively, engaged in an alliance with the Humans, the Dwarves and the Gnomes. The Night Elves as well, all the great races of Azeroth are allied against evil—do you mean to join us?"

He knew better. She wouldn't have come to him secretly, for that.

"Kael'thasss… Lord Illidan is my master and he is the one who wantsss you mossst of all."

"Illidan? I-Illidan Stormrage, the betrayer?"

"A great evil is taking over thisss world. There is nothing you can do. Not alone. Especially not with Arthasss running thingsss…"

"Arthas doesn't run a damned thing, as far as I'm concerned. And definitely not well. Least of all his own love-life."

She smiled, or sneered at him, he wasn't sure with all those teeth.

"You would know, wouldn't you? You positioned him, for that. You cuckholded him so well." She slithered once, snaked her hips, her long mermaid's tail, her entire body. The Naga woman watched him be fascinated by her, "Join with us now, Kael'thas, and perhaps we can sssave your people. We are the only onesss who can do it. But Lord Illidan's gift is not free. It could never be, not from sssomeone ssso great."

"I don't understand you, or any of this. It's just the Plague. It only needs a cure. It's difficult, true, but in time..."

"No, Kael'thasss… it needs a hero. You could be that hero." Her yellow irises widened, like a hungry cat, more than ready to pounce.

"What is your name, beautiful creature?"

She laughed, as if he was in her parlor, or cowering before her throne, not holding up the only light she had seen in a long time, on the other side of her cage.

"Lady Vashj. You and I are going to have… ssso much fun together."


	13. Dreaming of a Nightmare, Part 1

Dreaming of a Nightmare, Part I: Her Burning Crusade

 **Note** : Sorry for the delay. Real-life stuff got in the way, and then I decided to cheat on real life stuff with this… yus! I left a comment on the previous chapter with a preview of what's coming for the rest of this story, do look forward to it. Hopefully, now we're back on a regular schedule.

This one is for all the super-deep Kael'thas fans out there. (Did you laugh at the title of Part 1 yet?)

Disclaimer: The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 _Today, in Pandaria…_

Kael'thas came into Sunthraze's room and was so focused on the young general of his army lying there bruised, scarcely breathing, that he almost didn't see Fennore sitting silently by the window.

Kael'thas flinched. Fennore smiled at him, though. Fennore was dressed in full black and red plate armor. The blonde Bloodknight sat on the window ledge with arms crossed, idly swinging one leg. Fennore's latent warlock powers, unheard of in any Paladin or Bloodknight, pervaded every little thing that Fennore did. This unsavory darkness clung to the blonde Blood Elf, even though he seemed to be in a good mood. Well, better than on most days. Sunthraze taking such a terrible blow was certainly hard on all of them.

And there was another thing about all the Knights of the Blood Nexus, Kael'thas noted then-they were so capable and could look downright threatening with little effort. Yet, even in the worst of situations, that hint of mischief always came through. Perhaps that lightheartedness was what really saved him back at Tempest Keep. It was a defiant kind of, well, playfulness that he found refreshing no matter what. At times it was annoying, but Kael'thas also had a theory that it was, simultaneously, a brand of stubborn insistence that there was more to life than bashing skulls in and getting revenge. At least he hoped that was the case, and that it wasn't rampant incompetence among the ranks of their order.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Fennore?"

"Oh, nothing." Fennore grinned, "A good sense of humor is practically a requirement in the Knights of the Blood Nexus, that's all."

Kael'thas got a strange feeling, that his theory was about to be proven. There was a punchline in there, somewhere.

Kael'thas then noticed that he was sort of hunched over Sunthraze's bed, more like he was closing in and going to finish him off. Kael'thas began to say something to explain his strange intensity, but that was just it. The pain, the guilt he was starting to feel… Kael'thas had no idea how to begin…

"It's alright, Kael'thas. I know you can't help coming off looking like a maniac and a villainous murderer on your best days." A laugh escaped from Fennore's throat, though he'd evidently been trying hard to hold it back, till now.

Kael'thas shot Fennore a furious look, but Fennore shrugged good-naturedly, "Burning Crusade and all that? I was there, remember?"

"Fennore…"

"Anway, it's alright."

"Good. It better be. I don't… obviously, I don't mean any harm. It's just that…" Kael'thas swallowed, "Actually, I'm not sure how to tell you this…"

"Oh, it's nothing at all, Kael'thas! Anyway, that perfect hair, that thousand-gold smile… guys like you can get away with a little villainy now and then."

Kael'thas' scowl deepened, but he wasn't truly capable of looking horrifying, the way Fennore suggested. And that was the joke. Kael'thas had a lot of noble features and an almost distracting physique suggested by his mage's robes. Actually, it was somewhat embarrassing for him. Well, when it wasn't doing that, Kael'thas' natural regal bearing enabled so many people to follow him all through his life, even to their deaths in Outland. Kael'thas couldn't have led them so far afield without being so tempting a person. And these days, several people in his closest employ were recruited, particularly because they were just as obsessed with Kael'thas now. They liked his energy or they needed his attention, some mix of that. The Knights of the Blood Nexus were totally devoted to Kael'thas the man, if not always his actions. They could be relied upon, whatever the storm. And so Kael'thas was, however much his enemies might hate him, however time and trials rode roughshod over him, a very attractive man. If unholy attraction ever needed to be defined in the flesh, Kael'thas Sunstrider the once miscreant and later survivor, the Bloodmage, yet king-he would come close. Kael'thas always got away with a hell of a lot because of his looks.

But being teased about that little skill (or problem) of his, and by another vain male Blood Elf of all people, that was a new one. Kael'thas flushed with embarrassment and made a fist.

"Just making a joke, Kael'thas." Fennore then glanced up at the ceiling, smiled and and muttered to himself, "…mostly."

"Fennore, I remembered some more last night—and can you really be watching him while you're way over there looking out the window?" Kael'thas dragged a chair nearby the bed and sat. Kael'thas then swept an anxious hand back over his long hair a few times. When he mussed it, Kael'thas carefully lifted a long, golden tress to rest more neatly over his shoulders.

Then, Kael'thas looked over to notice that Fennore had an 'I told you so' smirk on his face.

But, rapidly getting more serious, "Sunthraze is stable this morning, my King." And Fennore stopped kicking at nothing. He sat like Kael'thas, facing the bed.

"Fennore," Kael'thas tried again, "…last night I remembered something terrible. A few terrible things, actually. When I first met Lady Vashj, it wasn't on the battlefield, after… Grand Marshall Garithos. What happened there. It was back in Dalaran. It was before Arthas, and the Sunwell… before everything."

"Wait, have you told Liadrin?"

"No, I just… want to sit with this, for a bit. Tempest, Pyorin and Blaize were remembering their part of it and I did have a few glimpses here and there, but last night, it felt like I turned a major corner." Kael'thas touched Sunthraze's shoulder, as if he was seeing him for the first time. "Fennore, would you believe that Sunthraze and I used to be friends? The closest of friends? I think… I think for a time, he was my very best friend. That's what I'm starting to see. Even at the beginning, the very beginning, he was there for me. He saved me." Kael'thas swallowed, "I'm sure that he did. Him and his… sass mouth. Writing me a letter and sending it all the way to Dalaran, asking me for money."

"Yeah, Sunthraze would try to pull something like that."

"No, it was more than that. Sunthraze also gave me some kind words to… to live off of, really. That was how badly I was doing. The truth is, Vashj almost killed me, the first time she and I met. She nearly threw all of Quel'thalas into chaos, right then. I was practically innocent back in those days. I had no idea. I hadn't befriended a… a manipulative Demon Lord yet, I hadn't even seen Outland, yet. Vashj could have easily had me in the palm of her hand. Her little pet."

"…But then? And I thought Vashj's whole game was to recruit you, for Illidan. Why risk you like that, go as far as risking your life?"

"It would have suited her."

"What?"

"I won't explain yet… I don't remember absolutely all of it, I just know. I sense that." Kael'thas felt around his neck, the old scar of fel stitches there.

"Kael'thas, how did Vashj even survive while in Dalaran? Are you telling me that none of their magisters, no one, no Humans at all, knew about a powerful Naga reeking with fel magic and, well, slithering around loose in their city?"

"You see?" Kael'thas nodded at Fennore, "You've been around me too long. You have the benefit of knowing how I think and how I work. How I've grown over the years. I'm far more vigilant with my enemies these days and can anticipate the waves they make, how they cause other pieces to move about on the chess board, before they make their first move. It made me a good villain back at Tempest Keep, and now it makes me a good king of the Blood Elves." Kael'thas made a face at how that sounded, so… unwholesome. "But anyway, it wasn't like that, back then in Dalaran. I could not have dreamed up how thoroughly destructive Vashj was, to have targeted me. Nor how much it implied about Dalaran itself and the Humans working there, how deep the conspiracy actually went. It was… nasty, what was being planned for me."

Fennore waited, ready to hear more. When Kael'thas wouldn't take his worried gaze away from Sunthraze, he said, "I was your confessor once, Kael'thas. I could help you through something dark like this again. I could be that light at the end of the tunnel, I truly don't mind."

"Well, I guess I didn't go fully to the Burning Legion, thanks to you."

"Actually, you did. You went directly to the Burning Legion inspite of my excellent advice."

"Not helping your case, Fennore."

"Sorry."

Kael'thas squeezed Sunthraze's wrist, like he was ready to grab hold and pull him up out of it, whatever the true danger was, at any moment. But Kael'thas knew he simply couldn't.

"My king? Please tell me what is on your mind. You can trust me with what whatever happened. And then, the two of us can go to Liadrin, together."

"Even if the memory deterioriation spell getting loose and affecting all of you is my fault to begin with?"

"It can't be like that. I refuse to believe that is totally your fault, Kael'thas. You didn't invent it. The Humans did that. And you also just made it very clear that you don't have all of your memories back. None of us do."

Kael'thas shook his head, "But now I'm remembering all this, after I already ruined Sunthraze's life? I was so sure that he hated me after the Black Temple, because of what happened to Saturna. I don't know if he ever forgave me for that. And then, at Tempest Keep, I… I had that stupid fling with Tempest, so I managed to crush him again. Twice. Now this? Sunthraze is my own general and he will hate me and want to rip me out of his life, for a third time."

"I see." Fennore was solemn. Then, "I wonder how General Blaize coped back when you crushed his spirit all those other times?"

Kael'thas seemed not to hear that comment, "Sunthraze and I won't be able to survive this—and I even feel it myself, the… disdain for him. It's still there, it's still lingering, I was sure it was mutual, this tight, uncomfortable… 'I semi-hate you, but let's have a working relationship since you're the best man for the job… thing.' But next to that now, in here…" Kael'thas made a fist, placed it on his own chest, "Is this deep admiration, this, well, love. I'm so worried, and hurt. More than ever before. And I am so afraid of what will happen if I never see… him. That light of acceptance, forgiveness in his eyes. Fennore?"

Fennore came from the window and sat in the chair on the other side of Sunthraze's bed, across from Kael'thas.

"Yes, Kael'thas?"

"Deep, deep inside," Kael'thas blinked, then grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I can't see it all yet. I can't remember it all. But, instinctively, Sunthraze feels like a brother to me. I didn't even know it was there. And I never had a brother before. Once, you know, with I-Illidan… it sort of…"

"But that wasn't real."

"Right, that wasn't real." Kael'thas accepted Fennore coaching him through that dark thought, "I was an addict back then, and it wasn't a healthy… bond that Illidan and I had. But what I'm trying to say is, how horrible would it be… What if Sunthraze was my true and only friend through all this, and then, what happens if I just…" he had to take another breath, "And I lose that?"

"Hrm. You and Tempest seem to have the same worry. And I guess that makes sense, when you all are closest to him, 'What happens if Sunthraze wakes up and everything is changed? What if he throws me out of his life forever?' " Fennore took a breath, "Yes, deep tragedy, horrible betrayal, trauma… it does change a person, so what can the average mortal do?"

Kael'thas leaned in for the answer, a pained and hopeful look on his face.

"…There are no guarantees in this life, Kael'thas."

"Well I _know_ that. Gods, now I remember how this used to go. You do suck as a confessor—"

"But you have me, Mavia, and you always have Saturna. We genuinely care about you. And there are so many others whether you believe it or not, Kael'thas."

"She's not… Well, yes, Saturna is my wife. Obviously. Of course I love her and trust her. But I don't know how many close, well, male friends I have. I went to Dalaran, the Black Temple, Tempest Keep, the Legion and back, and I still don't know what friends I have. I still feel like this giant, well, nerd. Not to mention that you listed all the people in my warlock coven and my banshee queen that I kind of… conjured myself. The way Saturna is now pretty much amounts to that."

"Kael'thas. I wasn't implying, by any means, that you coerced or conjured all of your meaningful relationships at present."

"And now, I'm… I'm so desperate hoping Sunthraze, of all people, will wake up and like me!"

"It's okay, Kael'thas."

Kael'thas sneered, "No, Fennore, it isn't. For once, I'd actually feel a lot more comfortable if this was another of Sunthraze's practical jokes, albeit an elaborate one. But no, once again, this train wreck is my real life."

"Are meteors falling down out of the sky? Is Lady Sylvanas going to smash through the window, swinging on a rope, and start kicking our faces in? That's why I was looking outside, by the way, to remind myself that, despite the sheer hell it can feel like in here, or in my mind, it's still a beautiful summer day in Pandaria."

Kael'thas grasped Sunthraze's hand next, focused on the tiny scars on Sunthraze's fingers. They were healing, little by little. They had been much deeper before, from the blast of Light magic. So, whether he liked it or not, Fennore was right.

Kael'thas frowned, "I don't see how a bigger pervert and demon magic abuser than I am always gets to give sage advice."

"Do tell! Is that some clue to how this Lady Vashj story is going to go? Is that why those dirty little things are high on your mind?" Fennore waggled eyebrows.

"Ugh, do I have to?"

"Yes. Sunthraze and I are comfy and ready to hear everything. Well, technically, only I can hear everything since he's out cold. But my one regret now is that we don't have popcorn."

"Alright. However, I want Mavia to watch the door. No one comes in here while I tell this. It's probably one of the worst stories of my life, okay? And I've already told you too many over the years, you know."

"Don't worry, Kael'thas. I can still keep a secret. Oh Mavia, darling!" Fennore almost sang to his succubus, rather than summon her like any normal warlock would.

Mavia appeared in a plume of blood orange smoke. She stood blocking the door, whip at the ready. Mavia also wore black and red Bloodknight armor. The beautiful demonness purred at the two men for a long, awkward moment.

Kael'thas worked his way out of that, "I meant for her to guard the door from the outside."

"Kael'thas, need I remind you that this succubus is also my wife? We share everything…"

Kael'thas let go of Sunthraze's hand. He sank back into the chair and crossed his arms, glaring almost through Fennore's head like he might use some, until now, little-known Bloodmage ability to lazer through this other man's skull with his sheer hatred for him during special, painful moments like these.

Mavia went, "Oh husband-master Fennore, it is just as you claimed many times. He is capable of becoming classic Kael'thas with just a look."

"Classic Kael'thas! What's that supposed to mean?!"

Fennore waved at Kael'thas to keep his voice down and get on with the horribly embrassing story.

"Well… it begins with me… and Lady Vashj. She was in a cage." Kael'thas began to hate how this sounded, "Actually, we were both in this weird Dalaran basement together. So it wasn't like I put her in a cage. It wasn't like that. Or anything kinky. As… far as I know." He shrugged, "She was already in that cage when I found her."

Mavia growled prettily, "Mrrreow… So you say."

Kael'thas flushed red, "Some Human probably did it."

Fennore went, "Oh, but you find the best things in Dalaran basements!"

"Except when that thing is a conniving Naga witch with a queen-of-the-world complex, hell-bent on owning you body and soul, Fennore." Kael'thas' brow knit, "And she was also using one of her, well, seductive dream spells on me, just as a warning… Do I really have to tell you two all of this? Every detail?"

Mazia had got 'cozy' herself, cuddled up in a ball by Sunthraze's feet on the bed like she was the family dog.

Kael'thas rolled eyes at himself and kept going. Well, they were his own henchmen after all. He'd made them so hopelessly loyal.

The way that Vashj had ruthlessly tried to force him to be, so long ago.

 _Once upon a time, in a weird Dalaran basement…_

 _They were alone together in a yellow boat, in the middle of a jade green sea. It rocked, gently, as the water rose and fell, so alive. The air truly smelled of sea salt, which was a little sweet. Everything was so terrifyingly real, though Kael'thas knew it must be a lie. Her beautiful, beautiful lie._

 _This creature, calling herself Lady Vashj._

 _Vashj did not look like a monstress, now. She looked like an Elf. She lounged at the other end of the rowboat like they were lovers already. Already? Vashj had a strong supposition that they would be, and soon._

 _When he tried to ignore it in his mind, it felt like her hand was there, her hand with long red nails, scarcely pinching his cheek, pushing his gaze back to face her again, directly. But Vashj hadn't touched him at all, had she? Vashj was seated at the other end of their golden vessel, so how could she?_

 _Vashj, reclining on sapphire pillows, had rose-colored skin, an almost amusing abundance of curling, dark ivy hair, and she wore a fly-away white toga. Split up the sides. Kael'thas, enjoyed seeing her thighs, he couldn't help himself. Rather than be modest, she slipped fingers beneath the cloth and flicked it back into the sea wind, such a casual gesture, so that he could see the swell of her hip beginning as well._

 _Kael'thas cleared his throat self-consciously, and tried to look elsewhere. He noticed that he was sitting on lush bedding, himself. Her scent was all over those elegant pillows and the rolled up blanket, strongly suggesting what they had done together—what Kael'thas knew they had not yet done, together. He wasn't going to… Well, but he and Jaina were…_

 _He hadn't slept with Jaina in a long time, now. Kael'thas flinched at cold glass against his leg. A bottle of chilled champagne was suddenly there, nestled in the pillows beside him. And then, he bounced something in his hand, idly, and saw that he was holding two fluted glasses, his fingers curved easily around the delicate stems._

 _Kael'thas took the hint, reached around and began to pour for his alluring companion. He balanced his arm well, though the boat was rising and falling with the waves. It was something he'd never managed so perfectly in real life while sailing. The golden liquid fizzed, bubbled up to a creamy head that he had to taste right away. Suntouched Special Reserve, just as he'd suspected. And it was exquisite. Then, Kael'thas leaned across and gave Vashj her glass._

" _What are we toasting, my lady?" Kael'thas decided to play along, rather than feel how nervous the vivid dream was making him. It was startlingly new. He'd never known anything like it before. His good mage instinct told him not to show any fear before this strange… dream magic._

 _Vashj's very womanly smile still had pointed teeth, "…To trouble."_

 _Kael'thas swallowed, looked down at his fingers cramped around his champagne glass instead. He was beginning to feel a bit like… prey?_

 _Vashj's elegant and hissing, slightly nasal tone penetrated into his ears and inner thoughts again, "A beautiful man like you should always have sssomething beautiful to look at."Vashj slipped one leg down, poked his shin with her toe. She then laughed, so pleased when Kael'thas startled. He was dressed in green slacks and a gold and green shirt. A perfect match to his companion, of course. Well, her hair at least. Kael'thas smirked when he noticed that she'd done that to him._

 _After a while, Kael'thas realized he should say something romantic in exchange, but he was never so good at talking with women. Flirting. His lack of progress with Jaina Proudmoore until now proved that. And even then, could one call Jaina loathing the enchanted engagement ring he had given her, some kind of progress?_

" _Tut-tut-tut…" Vashj waggled a slender finger, with red nail, two golden rings, "Not now. You keep doing that."_

" _Not… what aren't we doing, now?"_

" _Don't think of the witch."_

" _Witch…" Kael'thas furrowed his brow when he realized Vashj had meant Jaina._

" _Oh, please have mercy on me, Master Kael'thas."_

" _Master…?"_

" _She is the love of your life, oh of course she is. She's so cute and talented." Though Vashj's condescending tone, as if Jaina was a puppy, also strongly suggested to Kael'thas what this Naga woman really thought, that his fiancé was yesterday's news, "I should not have said that."_

" _No, you shouldn't have."_

" _It's just that you turn me on so much, Prince of Quel'thalas. I'm so very jealous of her, and what she obviously does to you. I wish I could… do so very much to you."_

 _Then, Vashj's champagne glass was gone. She had a golden apple in her hand._

 _Kael'thas wondered why he imagined she had champagne before? A corked bottle and two clean glasses lay beside him. They clinked gently together as the boat rose and fell. And he wasn't thirsty in the slightest… but he was hungry. Very hungry. Perhaps, for an apple._

" _A gold apple?"_

 _And then, Kael'thas blinked and it was yellow. Yellow-red. No, orange… somehow. Like the sunset. Then, as Vashj tapped fingers along its swollen sides, the orange paled to pink._

 _Vaguely, Kael'thas sensed he had some control over this dream. Or, he was beginning to control it. Vashj had changed the apple, and then he'd changed it back. Then, she made it pink. She was showing him how to do all of this. Vashj smiled at Kael'thas with another shared look of comprehension. And her eyes were so beautiful. It was lovely to watch her just… breathe. Before, when they were in the dark, with the cage, it had been so frightening. But now… Vashj had obviously heard his comments, and Faltheriel's back then. She was making up for it. She did have her womanly pride._

 _Using the dream magic like this, could he sense her fears? His mind raced with the possibilities. Surely, if dream magic merely gave people pleasant fantasies, it wouldn't be so useful._

" _Oh, Kael'thas. You're ssso magnificently irresissstible when you pause. When you think." She laughed at him, "Did you realize that you can be adorable?"_

 _Kael'thas blinked through the lust, rising in him, "Erm, how is any of this even possible? This isn't… arcane magic, or the Light. It's not fel magic, though it does seem, kind of… fel. Dark. But it isn't shadow."_

" _Blue."_

" _Blue?"_

" _You've never even heard of dream magic, have you? It's blue-black. Or, white-blue, depending on how you use it. You know, Kael'thasss, if you don't know how to use dream magic, it usesss you." She leaned nearer, "…Deftly."_

 _Kael'thas was now very thirsty. He looked at his empty hand, then willed the champagne glass to come back. Amazed, almost afraid, he sipped from it. Kael'thas then decided to indulge, drink half of it down._

 _Vashj told him, "Dream magic was invented by the first Elves, you know. But over millennia, the Naga perfected it. But it's not as if it belongs to us alone. Anyone, with talent, can learn to use it. Lord Illidan himself is a master of dream magic. I'm afraid that I, myself, am not. But imagine, someone with… only moderate powers can do all thisss."_

" _How did that happen, Illidan becoming a master of it?"_

" _Well, he kept it up over the yearsss, but then when I came to him, I helped him… polish it off, let's sssay. I remembered certain elements that he did not. And he possessed certain talent with it that I did not possess. Being, well, Illidan Stormrage." Vashj played with the apple in her hand, "When you become allied with Illidan, you know, the rarest magics in the world become yours. Anything that his allies use, thisss becomes a toolbox, an artissst's palette. Any problem you wish to sssolve, you have a thousand answersss, perfected since the beginning of time to aid you. What you do now, even in Dalaran, that's like reinventing the wheel, then, is it? All of you are bashing your clubs againssst the ground, hooting and hollering about like monkeys, ssso excited you've invented fire." She waved her hand dismissively, "But it's all been done before."_

 _Kael'thas consider that revelation very carefully. It was astounding to think of Dalaran University itself as primitive. And a Naga was telling him this. A Naga of all things…_

" _Naga, Ogre, Orc… Legion… Well, whatever Illidan could sssafely steal from them, all allies to do his work. But all of them have access to the greatessst knowledge and magic. You cannot get it here, on Azeroth. Not without an exceptional amount of help, like mine."_

 _Kael'thas looked up at her. She was almost hammering her point in, by now._

 _Vashj hurried on, "Can you imagine? Having such a complete arsssenal at your fingertipsss?"_

" _What is Illidan doing out there… out… where did you say he was?" then, Kael'thas worried he sounded awkward, "Where he's stationed. I admit that I'm not completely versed in what's going on with the wars of the world, only that the Legion's been defeated. Thankfully, that's done. I'm mainly focused on battling the Plague, you see. With everyone else in Dalaran."_

 _Vashj blinked at him, "It'sss not over yet, with the Legion. They've re-emerged in the Outland, they have a presence there. Lord Illidan fights them, there."_

 _Kael'thas swept a hand back over his blonde hair, itched at his neck. "Ah. I should have known."_

" _You are an innocent. You are ssso precioussss." Vashj smiled warmly. "Who knows if we will ever get any real help from the kingdoms of Azeroth? But, then again, we could only ever take true heroes."_

" _No, Azeroth won't consider while the undead, zombies and Plague rage across the land." He admitted, then regretted looking so smug about it, "I'm sure we'll help whenever we can. I can't imagine the likes of… Stormwind denying help with saving a planet. Two planets, if the Legion intends to use that… that Outland place as a staging ground before making another attack on Azeroth." He huffed, "Stormwind, most definitely, would not let something like that get past them."_

" _Sssurely."Then, Vashj waited. She was guiding him, somehow. Kael'thas wasn't sure what she was doing, exactly. Negotiators or interrogators sometimes left a pause in conversation, to get the other person to confide more and more of what was really on their mind. Kael'thas supposed it might not be more harmful than that._

" _Well, what about our memory deterioration spell?"_

 _Vashj hugged and smoothed over the apple. The way she did it was strange, as if it were a pet, so much more than an apple. Kael'thas didn't want to be rude, let his gaze linger over her chest, where she was holding it. But there was obviously some enjoyable… enchantment…_

 _Kael'thas said instead, "Do you think it will help much, with our memory deterioration spell? Your experience with magic, from the beginning of time and beyond—"_

 _Vashj cleared her throat._

 _Kael'thas anxiously apologized, "I didn't mean to put it like that—"_

" _You want my opinion on how you and the Humans intend to fix the Plague. You want to know if a ssspell that makes the enemy forget where he—or she—is, will succeed at making you all sssafer."_

" _Yes. Well, it's more than that. A memory deterioration spell eats into your sense of self after a time. It changes what you know, and therefore who you are. A zombie will forget that it's a zombie. No matter what the Lich King commands it to do, it will behave as if it isn't undead. I admit, it's a kind of shortcut…"_

" _A very smart shortcut. Was it your idea?"_

 _Kael'thas flushed, smiled very hard. "Ah… no. The archmage, who also happens to be the dean of the school, Sweeney. He did it. A very honorable Human with accolades as long as your arm—or your tail, Vashj. I could never…" then, Kael'thas stopped talking. He looked sad, regretful._

" _Oh, you really should ssstop thinking of her!" Vashj snapped. Then, she grinned at him, "Actually, this reminds me of a theory I have. Love… what is it? What is it really, Kael'thas?"_

" _Destiny? Or, to some… a basic… chemical reaction. A little arousal to get the job done. Make bodies crash into each other. The opposite of kill to survive. Love, in order to thrive, together. Pheramones that make it easier for people to…"_

 _Vashj cut off what was starting to become wistful rambling from Kael'thas, "When the love goes, what's left, Kael'thas? Obsession. I believe, in my great and long-lived Naga wisdom, that the only thing ssstanding between a heartbroken person and their new future, full of love, is the obsession. Rather, the ghossst of love. The memory of love. It's funny we're talking about it now, because I always believed, the faster sssomeone forgets about their old, dead love, the faster they lose that obsession. And that leaves a space, a wide ocean," she gestured gracefully, "…For a new love to come into their lives."_

" _Well, this is a sea. I can tell."_

" _Oh, don't be sssalty." She huffed a laugh, "And don't make nautical jokes at a Naga, you'll lose every time, Kael'thasss."_

 _Kael'thas leaned chin in palm. He swished the last of his champagne around. "It's true, you know. Once you start forgetting about someone you've loved, someone who isn't right for you, who never was… you can hardly remember why you wanted them so badly."_

" _You see?"_

" _But I know, for a fact, that Jaina is right for me." Kael'thas became lost in thought again, "Though, it can take months, really years, to forget about someone you really care for. Even when you're with someone else. Sometimes, you still look back."_

" _Oh, how sssad. How true." Vashj pouted._

" _It will take Jaina perhaps a whole lifetime to forget about someone like Arthas. I hate to say it, but she does, genuinely, care about him. Whether he deserves it or not." Kael'thas knocked back the last of what he had._

 _Vashj eyed him, waited._

" _I hope she forgets about him, sooner rather than later."_

 _Vashj began to toss the apple, impatient._

 _Kael'thas looked up._

" _What do you think you should do about Jaina, then, Kael'thas?Hmmm?"_

 _Now the apple was white, clean white. A wonderful, sweet white apple._

" _Is that a Silvermoon White? I haven't had one of those since I was back at the Sunspire."_

" _Would you like a bite of my apple?"Vashj held it before her breasts._

 _Kael'thas tried not to smile too much._

 _Then, she reached out to him, "Would you like to eat from my hand, Kael'thas?"_

 _It was the wrong thing to do. He was sure of that. But, then again, Kael'thas couldn't stop smiling._

" _Go on, have a bite. Tassste, and let me show you what Illidan's allies can really do. They have the power to change even their destiniesss."_

 _Kael'thas played at tickling her hand. Then, he came forward and smoothed down Vashj's arm. He grasped her wrist suddenly and narrowed eyes at that apple._

 _He spoke, looking the apple over. Perhaps he wondered if it had magical properties. Perhaps he was losing his ability to really read it, as he sank more and more into his amazement with every single detail of this dream._

"… _Can they, Vashj? No man can just change his destiny. Not by his own will alone, wave a hand and change his future, just because he wants to."_

" _Illidan's power, my power, the power of dreams will open your mind. It will always show a way around thingsss, a way out. Mere puzzles cannot contain them! This Plague you worry about? You'd untangle the problem in days, mere weeksss. And then, only sssend your minions to carry out your inviolable reasoning."_

" _Then would you help us—"_

 _Vashj spoke over Kael'thas' innocent question, "Masters of dream magic can sssee through to the end of thingsss. The blue-black inspires them, it makes them massster strategists, sssuperior mages, or more than mages, more than even a warlock, if you can imagine… No one can out-guess them or maneuver them. How do you think Illidan has sssurvived for so long? Oh, Kael'thasss… a master of dream magic can even make obstacles disappear."_

" _Disappear?"_

" _Like a wall, becoming thin air. Only because you want it to be."_

" _That's impossible."_

" _Well, almost. You're ssso clever aren't you? But you'd be so glorious with more, only a little more…" she pleaded, her tone hinting at everything simmering between them, "Take a bite, Kael'thasss. For me?"_

 _He shouldn't._

" _Have a bite of my pretty apple. Pleassse?"_

 _Vashj tried to pull her arm back. Kael'thas went with her, crawled nearer. And when she cradled the apple in her grasp, against her breast, Kael'thas felt her fingers, felt her. And he sank his teeth into the sweet, round flesh._

 _With sugar came energy, came heat. The stitch of the apple skin slicing into his gums, slightly. The white fruit flesh filling his mouth, his throat, taking his breath away. Replacing it with white, white consciousness. With stars bursting behind his eyes, and then rescinding. Glimmering with black, with red, with blue. Blue, yet more than blue. Swollen, bruised._

 _When Kael'thas opened his eyes again, the world was no longer a green sea, no. But it was just as ruthlessly purple. And he was suspended high above it._

" _Thisss is a place called Netherstorm…"_

 _Kael'thas blinked when amethyst lightning ripped across the sky, right in front of him._

" _A place of raw power, the power of the Nether itself rages through here. Imagine if you could control that for yourssself. A Highborne would know how to use it. Now, my handsssome prince, look behind you."_

 _Kael'thas thought he'd be sick if he tried doing anything other than hover in the air._

" _Remember, a massster of dream magic can will anything to happen, if he believes it…"_

 _Kael'thas suddenly got very frustrated with the game. He wanted to face the other way, but he couldn't figure out how to do it. And he was starting to hear a hum, a large humming behind himself, as if from a large, breathing creature. A maternal sort of nearness… He so wanted to see, but he just couldn't find a way to…_

 _Then, it faded away._

 _Kael'thas came to. He was still holding Vashj's hand around the apple. He looked into her eyes._

" _Oh, too bad. You were ssso close."_

 _Kael'thas angrily had another bite of the apple._

 _A golden palace. The humming was coming from what looked like a golden palace, and it was hovering there in the air as he was. Lightning raced by again, white-hot. Pale clouds sifted between him and the living fortress._

" _It is a ship, Kael'thasss."_

" _A… what?"_

" _It all began, one day, with mortals dreaming of sssailing on a green sea like ours, in a tiny boat like ours. All races begin in this way. But other, powerful beings on theier worlds build dimensional warships like thisss one. The Exodar, The Botanica, The Mechanar… and this, the largest one of all. I don't think the Draenei really need that one, like they think they do. Do they, Kael'thas? Anyway, Illidan needs those creatures sssubdued. He needs a hero…"_

" _The Draenei?"_

" _Why not look inssside and see for yourself. See what only you could do with it…"_

 _Kael'thas was losing hold of the dream. This dream within a dream. He had another savage bite of the apple, and another._

 _Kael'thas was suddenly walking inside of the golden warship. He looked down and beneath his feet was a violet, crystalline platform. The layers of the ship were delicate, beautifully constructed. His footsteps reverberated as if he were inside of a cathedral to the Light. In a cathedral and somehow walking on its very stained glass windows. Yet his mage's instinct told him that massive power raged through the glass, throbbed within the white walls._

 _Kael'thas also sensed that he was being trailed by someone. Another kind of excitement raced through him, the thrill for battle. So he was about to meet a Draenei, was he?_

 _Kael'thas turned around with wisps of magic conjured at his fingertips, ready to defend himself. But it wasn't an intruder. Highborne Elves, like himself, were walking in tune with his steps. They were wearing plate armor. But no one could do that… could they? Black, red. Large, sparking swords. And they were very, very pretty girls._

 _They saluted him. Smiled for him. Kael'thas almost wanted to look and see if someone else was standing behind him, more worthy of the praise._

 _The first woman, the brunette smirked, "Hail to thee, Prince Kael'thas."_

" _Savior of the Blood Elves," the blonde tossed hair over her shoulder, winked at him._

 _Kael'thas marveled at their words, "Savior! Blood Elves…?"_

 _These women were dressed for a massacre, but they were still stunning. Kael'thas was all smiles as they slipped in close, and the magic faded from his fingers. They linked arms with him. The alluring knights giggled and tugged him along. He could even feel the warmth of their bodies. Kael'thas inhaled their perfume._

 _The women brought him down a grand corridor next. Double golden doors were at the end. A double file of more such frightening yet enticing warrior women, all stamped their feet, thrust their chests and saluted him, one by one. Once again, he was their savior, their king. And they called themselves Bloodknights._

 _And every single one had a naughty smirk that matched his own._

" _Oh, yeah… this is totally, totally something I would do! Yes, I can… haha…" he blew out a breath, "ABSOLUTELY see this happening. So where's Netherstorm, Vashj? I am SO there!"_

 _The golden doors at the end of the hall slid apart the moment Kael'thas wanted them to. He hadn't even reached for or touched them yet. Kael'thas had never seen doors do that before, like curtains silently and elegantly parting before a grand performance. The whole place operated with sophisticated magic beyond his dreams, beyond his very imagining._

 _And Kael'thas kept forgetting that this was Vashj's dream that she was conjuring for him. Yet it so deeply resonated with his own desires. It was like she was… Yes. She was certainly reading him, somehow. She was reading him perfectly. And it was more than reading. Vashj… knew him. She was beginning to know him, intimately. What he wanted, what he craved._

 _The doors closed behind them. Kael'thas was embarassed, and then delighted to see a large bed inside of what he at first presumed would be an important control room, something like that. The pretty Bloodknights were pulling on him again, to lie down with them._

" _Aw, come on, Kael'thas…"_

" _Please? Come to bed, Kael'thas. We've been waiting for you. Only you."_

 _Kael'thas thought of Jaina again. He knew that he shouldn't._

 _But then, they were each kissing him, and he was letting them kiss him. Next, Kael'thas heard beautiful laughter. He opened his eyes and found Vashj in his arms, smiling up at him._

 _They paused and looked at one another. Vashj smoothed up his arms and Kael'thas could have laughed at his shirt suddenly vanishing. Kael'thas then cleared his throat as the overly exotic Vashj, with her elven features and so very much dark green, curled hair looked up at him. Her jewel eyes, looking over his lightly sweating body, possessed the precise depth of emeralds._

 _He pulled back. She dug her nails in._

" _Vashj…" he laughed. Then, he tried to be more serious for her sake. "Well, I'd be an idiot not to be flattered." But Kael'thas found himself whispering it. And he found himself watching her breathe, studying her, in fact. How her whole body reacted to him, how it felt when he smoothed up her back and his fingers passed over the silken straps of her dress._

 _He said, "This is a dream, right? So then… it doesn't matter."_

 _Vashj's smile spread, sharpened. "There are no consequences."_

 _Kael'thas became very quiet. The throbbing of the amazing magical warship was more apparent then. It was aware of them, wasn't it? It was getting impatient, urging him on. Kael'thas couldn't calm himself back down. He felt like he was laying over a volcano, not a woman._

 _He traced his finger down along Vashj's collarbone. She was so soft. Her flesh almost hot under his fingertips. How had he missed that before? How well the warmth of life, itself, was an aphrodisiac?_

 _Vashj whispered next, "How long has it been for you, my prince?"_

 _Kael'thas felt the tips of his long ears heat next. Was it shame? Was it need?_

 _Vashj breathed against his lips, "That bitch. How dare she make you wait—"_

 _Kael'thas kissed Vashj and wasted no time taking off the rest of his clothes, and hers. He made it very clear, with his body, that he felt equal to her challenge. Also, the full force of his true personality was laid bare. He felt entitled. He also felt cheated and vengeful that no one seemed to appreciate how powerful, how useful he could be, no one. And there was so much hurt. He raged at how none of the women in his life wanted him the way he felt he deserved. Especially his so-called fiancé._

" _I'm a damned prince, for fuck's sake!"_

 _Vashj smiled as she benefited from every angry emotion he worked through their bodies._

" _The best women should be tearing at me! Do you know that?"_

 _Vashj pushed fingers up through his blonde hair. She tried to give him a grateful kiss, but holding on for dear life mostly prevented that._

" _And why does this only happen in my damned dreams? Why?!"_

 _Vashj opened her mouth to say anything comforting, but it was getting impossible to think and his fury was, well… deliciously enticing._

" _I'm a damned catch, I always have been. Jaina should be all over me!"_

 _Vashj purred, "The way you're all over me?"_

 _Kael'thas got Vashj by the wrists and shoved her down into the pillows. His eyes sparked with fresh anger._

 _He sneered, "I want you to shut up."_

 _Vashj came up a little, kissed his cheek softly. "Yesss… massster."_

 _Then they kissed passionately. Vashj expected them to be done, but Kael'thas eagerly started up again soon after._

 _Vashj turned her head away from his angry kisses, though the rest of her was content where it was, trapped beneath him, "But can't you have everything that you want, Kael'thasss?"_

 _He didn't want to talk anymore, only sate himself. And that was more than easy for her to sense._

 _But Vashj needed to say it, "Why must this stay in jussst your dreams?"_

 _She had to wait a while before he could answer. And it was a good while._

 _Kael'thas at last stopped to catch his breath. He lay beside her, "Honestly, after tonight?" He shrugged, "Never thought I'd say this, but yeah, I might do a Naga woman, tail and all."_

 _Vashj looked confused, "I don't have my tail right now."_

" _Is it bad that I kind of want you to have your tail right now? Guess I'm kind of a freak. Eheheh!" then, thining better of himself, "Err, don't tell anyone, though."_

" _Wait-not that! I was not talking about that part of it! Think, Kael'thas, of what I taught you." She almost pleaded with him, "Focusss… if you can get Jaina to forget about her obsession, if you can get her past that, sssomehow. Then this is what you two could have together. You could have this love, with her. She held his face, "I didn't really mean to insult her earlier. I just wanted, so desssperately for you to understand. There mussst be… some way…"_

 _Vashj blinked several times, then lay her head back. While Kael'thas watched and worried, spoke her name several times, she fainted._

And then, they were back in the basement beneath the arcane lab. Vashj had her arm outstretched, through the bars. They were both kneeling. Kael'thas couldn't believe what they had really been doing, beyond the dream. He was shocked at so much of her blood, smeared along Vashj's arm, flowing from a wound. Kael'thas could taste the blood on his lips, on his teeth, filling his throat.

When had he…? But he would never have… Then, Kael'thas remembered the white apple Vashj had offered to him. He curled over and spat out the blood, disgusted with himself.

When he'd recovered, "Vashj! Why did you—"

"It needs…" she tried to smile, though she was in pain, "a catalyst. Sssomething, real, from the other person for the dream exchange to happen. Their blood, their flesh… a lock of their hair. But you didn't trussst me, yet. I let you take my blood in the dream. The most potent of offeringsss. I wanted to give you my power, to have." She ached, "Can you feel it, yet? The dream magic is surely within you, now."

"Well next time, just take a lock of my hair. Please!"

Kael'thas crawled near to the cage bars, tried to help. But he had no idea what to do for her.

"I'll be fine." She gave that pained smile again, "I was more than willing to make the sssacrifice to show you… how valuable you are. And you do doubt yourself, don't you?"

Kael'thas flushed. He looked confused, hurt. He had to look away.

"And I felt you. How angry you truly are. How close to the edge you are. Kael'thasss, do you sometimes feel like you are on the brink?"

"Of what?" he dared her. He wondered if she really could still read him so well.

"Of oblivion." Vashj pressed, "Like you are worthless and there is nothing left? Because you are sssuch a beautiful man that no woman truly loves. Because you are a brilliant man that not even the mages, here, desssperate for their cure to the Plague… they won't trussst you. They never will." Her voice dipped, dark, "You must feel like you have no future."

"Vashj, it's not so simple, with the Humans. Perhaps with time-"

She raised her voice, "And you have no friends. That's why you came here from Silvermoon in the firssst place. You aren't really wanted anywhere, Kael'thasss, are you?"

"Silvermoon was… well, it's a long story. My father and I both decided I would be better here. And I did like the Humans here, at first. I wanted to study with them."

"You keep a tattered little letter in your pocket, from a complete ssstranger, asking you for money. But he asked you nicely, so you imagine that kind of person is your friend. You hope he will be. Is something ssso pathetic really your only comfort?"

Kael'thas looked at the floor again. He felt his eyes stinging.

"Oh Kael'thasss… please don't cry."

"I'm not."

"Poor thing. I wanted you to know how wonderful, how wanted you will be if… If you would only just come into your full powersss. Only you can do it, Kael'thas. I believe the crisis, with Lady Jaina Proudmore, it is your first tessst. If you can overcome that, then you can do anything, can't you? You will remove that doubt in yourself, won't you? The doubt within you has been the thing holding you back. But I don't have to tell you that. You've known it all along, haven't you? This is eating and eating away at you, her rejection of you in body, and in sssoul."

Kael'thas was afraid of what to say. To acknowledge it was one thing, to deny it seemed to be a greater admission of weakness.

"Conquer those who oppose you, Kael'thasss. Don't wait for their permission, for them to accept you." Vashj set her teeth, "I've been around for a long time, Kael'thas, and I can tell you, that is not how the world worksss. That is not how Ilidan would do it."

Irritated, upset weighing his voice, "And how _would_ Illidan do it?!"

"Rise, and put them down. Show them their place!"

"I'm not cruel."

"Only then, Kael'thasss, would you grow in your dream powers. Or succeed at anything that you wanted! Dalaran could become your city then, all yoursss. And then you will be ssso much closer to joining usss in Outland."

"I see. So that's what you really want. Just when I finally thought it might be about me." He gripped the floor. Tears stained the place by his fingers.

"Oh Kael'thas, I do want to help you, too. And Lord Illidan will be so pleased. Yesss, I do admit, my sssacrifice was a little ssselfish. But then again, could it be totally selfless, Kael'thasss? Would that be fair to me?"

She waited. He couldn't begrudge her that. There was no way to counter her way of putting it.

"Excellent. So you understand. Now, you mussst go. Find a way to pass your test. My gift will only last for one night, Kael'thasss. Though I wish I didn't have to rush you."

"But you need _my_ help, right now. Vashj, please. You're bleeding so much-"

"Who will you tell? My captors? They wouldn't like it. Would the priesssts of the Light here in the city like to come down into a ssseedy basement where you were doing gods-know-what and heal a Naga of all things?"

"I don't care about that—" Kael'thas got very upset, "I can't just let you die, because of something I've done! To hell with what people think!" He sputtered for a bit, "E-even about the tail thing! You can't just lay here and die?!"

"I am a priestess, I should have said." Vashj felt weakly up and down her arm. The wounds began to close with green magic. "That's the other reason I was willing to risk it. It hurts ssso much, but I can try."

"A-are you sure? You're going to be okay, Vashj?"

"Go. And do not come back to me until you've found your answer. I feel you are ssso close and… my poor heart, I couldn't take it if you failed tonight." Vashj lay down over her coiled tail, rested the back of her wrist over her eyes.

"Vashj? Vashj?!"

"Just… go. _Please_." Vashj said once more and it was tinged with annoyance for some reason.

Kael'thas backed off, reluctantly. "I'm glad that you'll be alright. Also," he winced, "I hate to say this, but… If anyone ever found out we, uh… especially Jaina. I-I only did it because we were in a dream. And like you said, it'd been a while. Clearly, it had been too long. I'm actually very embarassed about that-"

"You are an amazing lover, Kael'thas. Never apologize." And she sounded more lucid then, fully annoyed in fact, "I'm almost tempted to manipulate you into staying the whole night."

Kael'thas froze.

Another dramatic groan from Vashj.

"Vashj, don't worry! I'll go. I'll use the gift that you gave me, I'll do it tonight. And I will succeed, I promise will!"

"Yesss… you feel it, don't you? My power should be surging in you now, or it will soon. It will help guide you."

Kael'thas felt his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Don't fight it."

He had a breath, calming himself. Then, his shoulders sank as he gave into the pain, indulged the way a warlock would. Kael'thas seemed to cross a threshold then, from pain over to acceptance. Then full comprehension. He looked Vashj in the eye, ready and willing.

"That's right, my prince. Please don't wassste it. I couldn't bear it."

Kael'thas got up and went to the stairs. He placed a hand on the railing as if he was seeing it for the first time. Vashj furrowed her brow, willing him to just go on and take that first step.

Then he did. And Kael'thas took another, and another.

"I know what I am going to do, Vashj. I'll go directly into Violet Hold, myself. I don't care what the Humans think."

"Oh, how clever of you." She winced, "And then? Now, will you tell me your full plan?"

"I will take what is owed to me, at long last. In fact, can't believe I didn't see it before! It's so obvious—I'll tell you once it's done." Kael'thas began to smile, himself, "Oh, will you be impressed! Thank you, Vashj for showing me the way."

Vashj smiled proudly. But then, halfway up the first flight of stairs, Kael'thas gave Vashj a curious look. Something had just occurred to him. It disturbed him.

"How did you know about Sunthraze's letter?"

"I know everything about you, now. Kael'thas, do not be afraid. We will do this together."

Kael'thas really hesitated. It wasn't clear what he would do, or if he believed her. Then, he shook his head of the notion and ran the rest of the way up the stairs. She heard him leave the lab.

Vashj uncoiled herself and raised up immediately after Kael'thas was gone. She conjured stronger magic. In an instant, her arm was healed. Then, she sank back and flipped her tail a few lazy times. Vashj crossed her arms and settled in to sleep.

But the vision of Kael'thas, so wounded, but all hers, and being a ruthless tyrant in her bed, it wouldn't leave her mind.

Because she liked him that way. There was no denying it, now. And so Vashj vowed on that night to make Kael'thas that way forever, reforge him.

It frightened Kael'thas to look back, almost a lifetime later, and know, absolutely, that Vashj had succeeded. Yes, he had been a tyrant since then, an addict, and a sadist. A murderer, a criminal. Because he let her mold him. No, Kael'thas had wanted her and people like her to change him. But he had been wrong all that time. It hadn't started in Outland. It wasn't because of his grief, losing his father and Silvermoon. What if that was always just his excuse? Kael'thas had been so vicious back in Dalaran, as well. He was so much worse than everyone thought.

Because the worst confession was still yet to come.

"My King?" Fennore was standing by the door in Sunthraze's room, at the Pandaren shrine. Fennore put a hand on the doorknob. A hand in gauntlet. Red and black plate.

Kael'thas blinked at it. And there was a demoness standing in the room with them, too. A succubus, also waiting on him. And she was dressed as a Bloodknight as well. In that moment, Mavia seemed like a perversion of what he had once fantasized about in that Dalaran basement, all those years ago. Horns and hooves, in that red and black armor.

Kael'thas held on, waiting for the laughter at his expense, the derision.

Fennore was unusually stoic, "Kael'thas, are you ready to confess to Lady Liadrin? Or… is there more?"

There was so much terrible more. They both knew it. It could never have just ended there. But was Fennore giving him a way out? Should he take it?

Kael'thas swept a hand down over his face. If he lied about it, at all, that could ruin their attempt to revive Sunthraze. And then, Kael'thas really would lose him.

"…Kael'thas?"

"What side of the nightmare am I on now, Fennore?"

 _More in Part 2…_


	14. One Helluva Stalker

**Notes** : Sorry this took so long. It was ready, and then it wasn't… the truth is, I originally wrote a hilarious and kind of creepy sequence where Kael'thas manipulated one of Faltheriel's odd dreams. You know, a parody of what Vashj did to Kael'thas- and then have it all go completely wrong. But it was freaking _me_ out! I tried to re-do it a few different ways, but it wasn't natural for the characters, it wasn't kind to Faltheriel, and it just couldn't be done in the scope of this fanfic.

So, I went with this instead. Enjoy! Faltheriel's most-spookiest-romantic-stalker-side seems a far better fit for the Fangirlverse (since it'll be something called a 'fangirlverse' after all), so I'll probably bring it back in some form then.

 **Next up** : the Violet Hold caper; Anasterian goes, "Kael'thaaaaas!"; a scary breakfast at Windrunner Spire; Anasterian threatens Sylvanas; drunken happy hour, Farstrider edition; Tempest tries to pick up Saturna; a secret spy meeting; Sylvanas finally forces Arthas' next move and more cool drama! (Unless I change my mind about any of it!)

 **Disclaimer** : The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Dreaming of a Nightmare, Part II: No, I'm Just One Helluva Stalker**

 _The truth is, Liadrin, I knew that I was going to betray the Alliance. For real, this time. My father, being King of Quel'thalas, had already made the decision to 'step back'. To focus on our own Highborne interests and stay out of the Plague conflict, though I knew some Elves disagreed with him._

 _Interesting now that I think back… I don't think I ever made my mind up about whether or not I genuinely cared about the Plague. Which is tragic, if you consider what Arthas himself was about to wreak on our world. All along, I just wanted Jaina. Nothing but Jaina. I had proposed marriage, I had graduated with honors, I had stayed on in Dalaran and volunteered in the lab—all of it was for her alone and I knew that, though I didn't tell anyone. I feared to tell myself, how empty I was. How furious I was becoming. All because she didn't want me back. None of the Humans did, and she was the main one. She—well, coming from her, it hurt the most._

 _In the end, it didn't matter that I had a family, or probably a real-life undu'diel back in Silvermoon who cared, who wanted my friendship. Sunthraze and me finding each other again was amazing. Well, what Sunthraze was doing, so early on, it meant something to me, but it really wasn't enough to so-called save me._

 _Back then, I even had a safe place to live, which means a lot more to me now after roaming two whole worlds as a hateful outcast. I even had a lot of political influence as a prince. I could have done a lot of good if I wanted to in those days. I was fortunate. And I had throwing around money, real wealth… However, none of that actually made any difference to me. I just wanted justice for how I'd been mistreated. By Arthas and his irrepressible bullying. And hurt by Jaina, for her neglect. And here I go, rambling about that again…_

 _No, it was revenge I wanted. Revenge on the whole campus, on the whole of Dalaran. And finally, with Vashj's magic burning in my veins and whispering in my ear like a lover—the impulse to finally go and do it was just like that, actually. Like I needed to go to bed with my rage and just indulge. At last, I sensed that I had my chance to change absolutely everything._

 _But Vashj's magic was also whispering to me, sweetly… or ever so cruelly, that I shouldn't dare go into Violet Hold alone. It wasn't safe. I could be caught. Therefore, I needed to use someone else for help, or to blame. And it was only obvious, to both of us, who was already ripe for it._

 _My number one fan, my lab partner, my stalker, whatever Faltheriel Darkweaver actually was to me at that time, I needed him to become... Well, what else could I possibly call it? I was about to do something very villainous, for the first time. I needed a henchman. Some kind of minion._

 _I would have many such men over the years. First Rommath, Halduron and then Lorth'remar. Later, Pathaleon the Calculator and Voren'thall the Seer who turned Sunfury into Scryers and who embarassed the hell out of me, in front of Illidan. And, in a lot of ways, Illidan himself, because I used him back while in Outland. I even tried to use Kil'jaeden. But before any of them, before I could conceive of anything nefarious quite like that—Faltheriel was my first._

 _Faltheriel was the first man that I used, thoroughly, for my singular purposes. And I remember now, actually… what I did was break him. After so many years, and don't ever tell him I said this, I can see now that Faltheriel was only just a nice, odd guy. Saturna actually fawns on him sometimes and says, 'He'such s a sweet guy.' I guess Faltheriel is. He has a generous spirit. Faltheriel never does things out of hatred, I don't think he ever worked for the Legion out of pure hatred. Faltheriel did it because he was desperate to be loved, which is the same as survival for him. He absolutely had to fit in. Just like while we were in Dalaran at school together._

 _Maybe I forgot how that all started because of the memory deterioration spell, but I must have still sensed it all these years. Because, back in Dalaran, I saw how warm and what—Well, how sunny Faltheriel was deep down and I just poisoned that. Back then, I didn't care, Liadrin. I guess I'm trying to explain how I couldn't… care. I only wanted to twist Faltheriel and order him around like any of my warlock pets. Push him and push him until the job against the Humans was finally done._

 _By the end of it, I broke that boy like a pane of glass._

…

 **W** hen Faltheriel heard Kael'thas calling his name and knocking repeatedly on his door that night, he threw off the covers and welcomed Kael'thas in immediately.

Kael'thas' hair was mussed, and he looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"So… the little talk with Jaina didn't go well?" Faltheriel's voice then dipped low and vengeful, "You dump her yet?"

Kael'thas touched the back of Faltheriel's desk chair, to hide how his hands were shaking. The Naga magic was making it hard not to. Then, his own voice came just as low and threatening, "I thought you wanted a royal wedding. Now, Faltheriel, it seems you've turned on me."

Faltheriel was clutching the collar of his pajamas closed. When Kael'thas noticed him doing that, Faltheriel quickly stopped, cleared his throat. Obviously, Faltheriel was the only man in his bedroom worried that this was starting to feel… intimate.

"Anyway, I'm very good at throwing pity parties, Kael'thas. I'll pour us some wine or… probably get you a beer and we can talk about it. I'm afraid the beer won't be cold though." Faltheriel went to the nightstand and brought out a long dark bottle, and then a smaller, golden one. "Wait, you're a mage. And, I happen to know for a fact that, though you do like to help people with it, you mainly graduated 'in all the magics' so you could show off. You always do like showing off, don't you, Kael'thas?"

Faltheriel turned around and offered Kael'thas an empty glass. Kael'thas wouldn't take it.

"Is it because I look so horribly offensive in my pajamas?" Faltheriel let out a nervous laugh, "If so, while you have your drink, I can go um… shower and change. I shouldn't be entertaining a prince of Quel'thalas looking like this, I guess."

"I am _the_ Prince of Quel'thalas."

Just as fast, "Yes, you are."

Kael'thas felt Vashj's power heat up, begin to prod at the edges of his voice, make him pace and eye Faltheriel like a predator. Before Kael'thas realized what he was doing, he was circling the other man, like a shark.

Kael'thas exhaled and tried to regain control. The Naga magic wanted him to seize Faltheriel by the neck and scream orders at him, eat or be eaten. But among Highborne, there was a more sophisticated way, wasn't there?

"What do you really want from me, Faltheriel? We've shared all these tense little moments with each other in classes over the years, and in the lab all summer long… but you've never come out and just said it, have you?"

 _It was wrong, so wrong what I was getting ready to do…_

Faltheriel's back was to him. Kael'thas watched Faltheriel hesitate, then slowly turn around. This time, he was holding the thick Human wineglass close. Elven glasses were light and delicate. The more expensive ones were even inscribed with sparkling arcane magic. The glasses Faltheriel was able to afford and keep in his small dorm room, on this side of campus, were heavy, local stock. Kael'thas noticed a small chip in the base. Faltheriel turned that side around, hugged it against his chest.

"Well? Come out and say it!" Kael'thas bullied into Faltheriel's thoughts, his indecision. He was going to provoke Faltheriel into speaking and acting from instinct. "How do you know what's going to happen? I'm low tonight, right? Probably at my lowest. Jaina rejected me, you called it exactly—so how do you know I won't give in to _exactly_ what you've always wanted? Maybe I'm disgustingly lonely and I can't stand the tension anymore! Maybe I'm desperate for any attention tonight. Or, maybe it'll be a laugh, right? You should know the feeling—"

More gently than Kael'thas expected, "I don't want to play this game. Not with you. Not with anyone."

"But isn't that why you opened the door? To me? In the middle of the night!"

Then, Faltheriel went on the other extreme, he exploded, "STOP BULLYING ME!" He turned and slammed the glass down, "I swear, you're horrible when you're this angry. You're worse than the Humans tonight, you know that? Anyway, you know the way I am so why are you choosing to treat me like this, using it against me like a sword? I mean," his laughter was tortured with an aching sound, it was so evident then how he always hurt, "I know this isn't a friendship we have. We're probably the only two Elves left on campus who are students, who can actually spend time together and talk to each other. But eventhough I am different, eventhough I am so different from you in… that way, we don't even have kinship, Kael'thas? As fellow Highborne? Don't we even have that?"

Kael'thas snatched up the glass, reached for the wine, got it open and poured with one quick motion, which raised Faltheriel's eyebrows.

"Look…" Faltheriel was becoming more nervous by the moment, "Do you want me? Or not?"

Kael'thas sat on the bed, glared at him, drank. The dream magic between them was thick in the air by now. How would it penetrate Faltheriel? How would it intrude on his thoughts and contort his fantasies? Heighten them? Faltheriel had to lean in his desk, as Kael'thas had done before.

The pure magic of the Naga was ancient and almost had a life of its own. It was so powerful that it didn't need to be guided, really. Kael'thas observed Faltheriel blink several times, then shake his head at whatever it was he was seeing. Then, Faltheriel took a step closer. He did not appear or act the way Kael'thas expected. For Kael'thas, his dream with Vashj was consuming, gloriously enchanting. Fun. Faltheriel hunched like a torturous pain was growing in his stomach. He looked ready to cry. Then, Faltheriel looked up, seeming to come clear of it. He looked around himself, as if checking to see that he was really at home, in his dorm room. Then, he was embarassed to notice Kael'thas there, watching everything.

"You alright there, Faltheriel? You seemed to go someplace. Just now."

Faltheriel began to ask again, slowly, pained, "Kael'thas…?" then, Faltheriel gave it up, "This is a very ass-backwards way to go about wanting someone. I don't know if I like you yelling at me," Then, his shoulders sank, "Okay, okay, I might like you yelling at me." Then, pride welled up in him, "But I don't like you being so damn disrespectful!"

Faltheriel decided to have the beer. Then, he made a face, because it was very warm beer. Faltheriel watched Kael'thas ease back on his elbows, swish the wine around, finish it. After, Kael'thas raised the glass expectantly, for Faltheriel to come over to the bed and pour him another. Perhaps, this time, for it to work… Kael'thas figured he would have to touch his victim.

Faltheriel held back, sensing the danger. And he also noticed what Kael'thas was wearing. All black, for some reason. Elegant slacks and a nice shirt. A pair of fine black gloves were even stuffed into his pocket.

Faltheriel shook his head slowly, "Prince Kael'thas… are you trying to seduce me?"

Kael'thas thought of everything he wanted, badly, if that helped him look the part. He gave a smile that reflected his need for all of that.

Faltheriel was clearly tempted. He went for the wine bottle, really hesitating. But then, Faltheriel knelt at the edge of the bed and poured for his prince.

How had Vashj touched him, to start the flow of power? This would be a good time to, perhaps… touch Faltheriel's leg. Kael'thas wondered if he was really willing to go so far. Shame flooded through him as well, as it felt so wrong, and unkind. But Jaina, she was the prize in the end. He may as well be touching her…

"How do I feel about you?" Faltheriel let the wine fall neatly into the waiting glass.

Kael'thas watched his hand open, the fingers spread. He could feel the warmth of Faltheriel's body. He traced fingers along the cotton edge of the striped pajamas. Faltheriel should have jumped out of his skin. But he was letting him. He wasn't the one who was afraid.

"Well, Kael'thas, you're fun."

"I'm no fun." Really, Kael'thas was starting to feel more sad about what he was attempting to do, by the moment. Really, how could he? The Naga magic surged in him. It was an effort to ignore that.

"No, give yourself more credit, Kael'thas. In your own way, you are wild and ferocious. Actually, you're a shameless bastard."

"Interesting. Maybe I should just slap you instead."

Faltheriel really grinned at that. Fine time to notice that he had a dimple in that cheek, "But you can also be very kind. You're exceptionally intelligent. It's stimulating and wonderful to be around you because you're so fascinating to just watch, and to speak to… You're sort of, well… radiant. And feeling challenged like that all the time, to keep up with conversations, it's pretty sexy. You're very sexy, Kael'thas." Then, Faltheriel retreated from looking at him so intensely. He placed the bottle back on the nightstand and sat nearby, at the edge of the bed, "You are a special soul." Faltheriel softened, "Some people are pebbles. So smooth, wanting to just get along, being tumbled around forever at the bottom of a stream, unable to stand the pressure of life. They change and do whatever the world tells them to. They don't care what they lose about themselves. But you, my dear friend, are like a diamond. You have the courage to let yourself shine and be as defiant and angry as you were born. You have a right to be angry, too. And nothing seems to be able to truly cut you or stop you—"

"I wish that were true."

"Of course, you've been in pain, Kael'thas. You know pain. But when you're not filled with this… ribald mischief or riteous anger and unafraid to show it… You're a compassionate sort of warlock, aren't you? You're willing to make sacrifices for the ones that you love. Great ones. Even dark ones. That's why you're still here on campus, isn't it? You've endured so much to show Jaina how much you desire her. Note that I didn't say love for that one."

Kael'thas rolled his eyes.

"I think you're a better man than Prince Arthas, definitely. The sad thing about the situation with you and Jaina is that… Well, you've already won. You are better than him. And it isn't that she doesn't see that." Faltheriel had another drink, like it was nothing, "… _You_ just don't."

Kael'thas glared. Then, he untensed. He looked lost.

"Kael'thas, if you really want to sleep together tonight because you're curious, or you feel hurt and hopeless, then fine. I'll make love to you. I'll show you what love really is, man or woman. I promise that I will give you the attention and care that you deserve because you are such a beautiful person, inside and out, Kael'thas. You shouldn't have to linger and keep suffering so alone like this. Someone needs to stop you… hemorrhaging on the inside, like that."

Kael'thas looked over at Faltheriel, astonished. Faltheriel was busy looking down at his own hands, though. Twining his nervous fingers together over the black sheets speckled with fine gold dots.

Kael'thas realized his hand was on Faltheriel's warm leg. He winced and moved it, to squeeze Faltheriel's shoulder.

Then, though the Naga magic was snarling at him not to do so, "I… I-I'm so sorry, Faltheriel."

Faltheriel knocked back the last of the beer. He then leaned on his elbows and like Kael'thas was doing, and lay beside him. Faltheriel crossed his legs and wriggled his toes in socks. One red sock had a big hole it in. Kael'thas laughed because he hadn't expected that.

Kael'thas cleared his throat after laughing so much, "Damn. I also didn't expect you to say anything like that—"

"All the right things?" Faltheriel gave a glowing smile, "Maybe that'll be my revenge on you for coming in here like you did. Leaving you knowing that I'm perfect for you probably, but you can't ever have me."

"Okay, Faltheriel…" Kael'thas rolled his eyes. Then, his smile died down, "Forcing Jaina to wear my mother's engagement ring was kind of… extreme and pathetic, wasn't it? I thought it… I mean, that probably did occur to me at some point. But by then, the spell was cast; the die was cast. The whole experiment was ready to go, Faltheriel."

"Well, you can't undo it now. And it's not like you had a nosey roommate or well-meaning friend to notice you spending way too much time on it and warn you about how weird it was. We weren't really hanging out back then."

"Ugh. I _am_ weird! It's so true. Ho gods, am I weird! How could I have done all that?"

"You're a hot weird guy, though. You'll always get away with it."

Kael'thas chuckled again.

"… Anyway, I should know."

Kael'thas laughed even harder.

"Alright, it's been what—minutes by now, and you still haven't jumped on me? Well, if you don't want my body, then I must be able to do something else for you, Kael'thas." Faltheriel looked over at him, "Why are you wearing so much black, anyway? What have you been up to?"

"Nothing, yet. I was thinking of breaking into Violet Hold." Kael'thas waited to see how that landed. Faltheriel narrowed eyes at him. Kael'thas went on nervously, "Actually, I wanted you to help me steal the memory deterioration spells. A few vials of them. Since they've put them in a portable form to test, it occurred to me that we could just take the research. You know, for our research… purposes. I just can't do it alone, I need someone to watch my back."

Faltheriel snapped his fingers, "Oh! Like you were saying in the lab? Yeah! Totally, I can do that for you. Let's stick it to those Humans!"

"Wait—you can?! You're going to help me, just like that!"

"Yeah, sounds like fun."

Kael'thas was stymied, "But I thought… I came in here all revved up to… well, you know. Convince you to do it. Actually, I'm also pretty high on Naga magic right now, I should warn you. Aaaand, I might have been using it on you all evening to give you strange thoughts and make you more willing. Sorry again."

"Ah, I see. I guess you would be," Faltheriel bristled, "So it wasn't Lady Jaina you came from, it was that creepy Naga thing in the basement and she shared her magic with you." Faltheriel smiled at him, "…You weirdo."

"Har har."

"Cool beans. Let me just go get my toolbelt."

"Toolbelt?"

Faltheriel had gone into the closet. He leaned back out, smiling beautifully, "Well, I am your stalker after all. And that makes me a royal stalker, so I have to be the best of the best. Did you think I'd be terrible at it and totally unprepared?"

Kael'thas cringed as he listened to Faltheriel pull down heavy, clinking chain-like things from unseen shelves and unsheathe what sounded like knives or swords in his deceptively small closet.

When Faltheriel returned, he was dressed head to toe in classic black, with a cap pulled ontop of his blonde head. He rolled it up and finished strapping on some goggles over his bangs. Faltheriel turned and tried styling his hair in the mirror with this goggles and his turned up burglar's hat, then gave up. Last, he swept fingers around to tighten a slick-looking onyx utility belt at his waist.

"…Is that Gnomish?"

"No, Goblin all the way! The bombs are fun, I guess, but I'm more into their motorcycles."

"I can't imagine you or me on some Goblin motorcycle, Faltheriel."

"Funny. I imagine it a lot," Then, just as swiftly, "Ready, sweetie? I kind of feel like my life has been leading up to this moment. Yay!"

Then, Faltheriel pulled down some rose-colored goggles that even Kael'thas had to admit, really suited the slim, spooky Elf.

"Oooh, look who's hot for me after all, even though he claimed that he wasn't—"

"Faltheriel. Take those damned stupid heat vision goggles off, and let's just go. Now!"

 _Liadrin, it's hard to believe, I know. Yet I did survive that, somehow. Though I warn you, it got worse than even that…_

Later, they were walking down the sidewalks of Dalaran together, looking as casual as possible and also dressed in all black. An arcane construct, a giant blue whirring machine that glowed with white, magic was suddenly striding around the corner. As large as it was, it could be deceptively silent. Faltheriel did a cat-like leap, pushed Kael'thas out of the way, then rolled to a stop around a corner in one smooth movement. Faltheriel then beckoned once the giant war machine had gone away down the street.

Kael'thas looked both ways, swore, and skulked across the road to hunch down beside Faltheriel.

"How the hell did you do all that? You're no rogue!"

"It's… just a hobby." Faltheriel smiled beautifully up at him.

"No, Faltheriel. I think it's boiled over into a life-choice."

The two Elf men went and crouched behind the first gray column of stone by the bridge to the keep. Below was a deep moat that looked none too friendly. They peered across the bridge at four guards standing by the large studded doors.

"So, Kael'thas. What's your plan?"

"We break in."

"Good, good."

Faltheriel waited. Kael'thas waited. Then, Kael'thas looked over at Falthriel, expectant.

"But how do we break in, Kael'thas?"

Kael'thas looked around in the dark, then scratched his head. "Honestly, I thought there would be fewer guards around at night."

"Do you mean no guards at night? Because that's the whole point of armed guards, Kael'thas, to stand around dangerous buildings at night?!"

"Shh, keep your voice down."

Faltheriel let out a breath, rolled his eyes, "Okay. We wait until the guards change for the first night shift. Then, we slip inside. We keep low and then east. We listen for anything unusual, anything. Then, we take the stairs. The most dangerous experiments should be in the wing on that same side of the building, up on the second floor. Several magical wards are there, but you and I should be able to silence them all. And you must always wait for my signal before you do anything. Got it?"

Kael'thas raised eyebrows at Faltheriel giving such confident instructions, with exacting hand gestures to indicate the direction and everything. Faltheriel then motioned that the 'go' signal was several rolls of his wrist and two fingers pointed forward.

"You know Faltheriel, my toenail clipper went missing a few weeks ago. It's a gold one with the Sunstrider insignia on it. Something no other mortal being could possibly want. Because, at the end of the day, it's still a junky old toe nail clipper…"

Faltheriel glanced back at Kael'thas leaning over his shoulder, another beaming, lovely smile.

Through clenched teeth, "…You do have it, don't you?"

"Guards just changed, Kael'thas. We're going in…"

And Faltheriel had an almost elegant low-to-the-ground man-prowl with fingers spread, at the ready.

Kael'thas whispered, "Liar. And to think I let you sweet-talk me…"

Halfway across the bridge, Faltheriel flinched at the sound of Kael'thas snapping fingers at him to stop. Faltheriel turned around and looked at his prince wide-eyed, amazed that Kael'thas would be so annoying and awkward about a dangerous prank he himself had thought up.

Faltheriel hissed in a breath, grabbed Kael'thas by the shirt collar and raced them the rest of the way across the moat. Faltheriel then brought them up against the far wall, back into the deepest shadows by the doors.

"Kael'thas, you're cute and all, but if you keep being so wonderful, out loud, we are going to get caught and skinned alive!"

"I almost forgot." Kael'thas looked nervous, but then the edge of his mouth raised in a smile. In fact, he started grinning like a madman. Something new and thrilling had just occurred to him. Faltheriel furrowed his brow. How was it that Kael'thas seemed to be getting more and more out of it with no arcane crystals in sight?

"That weird Naga lady isn't with you now… just what are you on, Kael'thas? Are you doing arcane crystals too, ontop of everything else? Don't you know when you've had enough?!"

Kael'thas reached across and placed his hand over Faltheriel's face. Honestly, Faltheriel fought it only a little. Kael'thas then slid his hand down over Faltheriel's chest, his torso, leaving a glowing green smear of magic over his body. But before Faltheriel could think to enjoy the sudden, strange touch, he realized what Kael'thas was truly doing to him. Conjuring something… something that felt… it felt so wrong! Confusion and then dread filled his mind.

"What? Kssksss… Kael'thasss! What have you done!"

Kael'thas then dragged a hand down over his own face, changing it to look more reptilian, as well as his chest, belly and legs. Both men balanced uncomfortably on scaley fish-like tails, reaching for each other's arms for a few moments before they got used to it.

Kael'thas looked down at himself, and then over at Faltheriel. He opened his now crocodilian jaws in hoarse laughter.

"Why are we Naga right now?" Faltheriel freaked out. He looked at his black claws, his silvery eel-like body, "Oh gods! Can you change us back? Change me back now!"

"Becaaaaussse…" Kael'thas hissed back, "This is a thousand times better than a massssk. The magic just spoke to me and showed me how to do this, isn't it wonderful? We can take what we like in there, and do whatever we want to Sweeney's guards, no questionssss. Heh. No problemssss."

Then, Kael'thas, golden scales glowing darkly in the moonlight, slithered ahead.

Faltheriel sucked exasperated breaths through his silvery gills. Suddenly, this was the most horrible night of his life.

When Faltheriel looked up again, he realized he was already knee-deep, or tail-deep in it. Kael'thas was already inside the doors, savagely punching one of the guards in the first hall. Kael'thas then turned and knocked the other purple-clad guard up against the wall. He used a large spiny Naga tail to slash straight across Human man's face.

"Sssomething occurs to me. Why is Kael'thas engaged to Jaina Proudmoore if he secretly hates Humans so much?!" Faltheriel then slithered quickly inside the hold after him.

 _And so, that's how it began. The worst prank I ever pulled on the Alliance that the world has thankfully forgotten. But we still had such a long, terrible night ahead of us…_

 _So, Lady Liadrin, if you could not tell anyone outside of the essential folk in our elect group that I seduced Faltheriel Darkweaver, and then teamed up with my stalker while high and dressed like Naga to infiltrate Violet Hold-that is, long before the Highborne had to split from the Alliance? I'd kindly appreciate it. I mean, it might all look like my fault. They might even take retroactive action against all Blood Elves today, like when they arrested all those so-called Sunreavers? Actually, looking back, not surprised Jaina was the one behind that._

… _What? I pretty much assumed the Bloodknight Matriarch would be a lot more accepting. I mean, look at all the crazy stuff you guys did over the years, especially during the Burning Crusade._

 _I mean, torturing a Naaru and such… they were all things that I ordered you guys to do, but still._

… _Liadrin? Wait, I thought they ret-conned Seal of Blood. Why are you conjuring up that painful, extinct retributive magic now? Heh. Didn't know the Bloodknight Matriarch was such a dinosaur._

 _And anyway Fennore, you're my sworn protector, aren't you going to do something about this? Uh, Fennore? Dammit—_

Lady Liadrin casts Seal of Blood.  
Lady Liadrin casts Judgement. You take 600,000,000,000 Light damage.

 _OUCH!_


	15. The Violet Hold Caper

**Disclaimer** : The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: The Violet Hold Caper**

Just as Faltheriel had directed, they went east. Then, after the two of them slithered quickly past several dark cages and a patrol of guards that they hadn't expected, but who were fortunately moving too fast to see them, Kael'thas and Faltheriel made their way up to the second level.

Faltheriel grimaced as he kept slipping backward on the stairs, hissed through silver gills, "Naga scales… on stairs… not ideal."

Kael'thas used several blink spells to get himself up the awkward stairs faster.

"Hey…" Faltheriel rasped, "If we use our powersss, won't we give ourselves away?"

At the top of the ramp, they heard voices. And then it wasn't clear which way they should go. There were three main halls and perhaps dozens of doors.

"This is all your fault!"

Kael'thas blinked gold, vorpal, reptilian eyes, "Honestly, Faltheriel, you're starting to sound like my wife or something and you aren't being fair. Will you calm down when nothing's even happened yet?"

"Yet!"

"Well, we can't go the way the voices are coming from…" Kael'thas slithered off. Faltheriel made a strange sucking, whining sound deep in his gills, then hastened after Kael'thas.

Kael'thas tried to listen at several doors, while Faltheriel felt the sides of his own head wondering if Naga even had ears to begin with. Then, through Faltheriel's nervousness, he of course accepted that since, yes, he could hear all this time, Kael'thas' method wasn't so far-fetched.

Then, Kael'thas suddenly ducked into one of the rooms. It turned out to be the main library. Several prized devices and tomes were set on pedestals and what could only be the vials they were looking for were set under glass on a plinth.

"How'd you do that, Kael'thas? How'd you just… listen for the right room?"

"The strongest arcane spells have a rhythmic hum, haven't you noticed? They give off radiation in pulses."

"Do they?"

"You're a Highborne, you know you do. The Sunwell does, doesn't it?"

"Hrm, I guess it does."

"To me, it kinda sounds like three people doin' it on a squeaky mattress, though low frequency. Do you know what I mean? You never forget it after that."

Faltheriel narrowed eyes at Kael'thas.

"It's just a memory game so I don't forget—"

"I could have gone my whole life not knowing that the Sunwell sounds like a nasty brothel to some Elves. Or… just you."

Kael'thas gave a toothy smile, then moved his muscular Naga's tail to get across the room after a few confident swipes, "Go watch the door."

Faltheriel, still a bit distressed that he was trapped in the body of a silver Naga, lingered by the door as he watched Kael'thas approach the glass case at the center of the library.

Kael'thas' version of being a Naga was golden—of course—and he seemed to enjoy slithering up to the encased spell vials they'd come to steal. Slow, with a real attitude. He even slipped a forked tongue out of his mouth. Really, he was enjoying it a little too much.

"Faltheriel, I'm still amazed the Humans managed to preserve a spell in this form, a sort of liquid stasis. Heh, and pocket-sized."

Faltheriel squinted his green reptilian eyes, getting more nervous.

"Oh, yes. Come to daddy—"

"Stop."

"You've gotta agree, it sure makes them easier to steal, Faltheriel."

"Just stop."

"It's weird. In fact, too weird…"

"I think you're really special, Kael'thas, I do. But you aren't a cool guy. Stop trying to act cool. I mean, we're both practically cosplaying right now…"

Kael'thas ignored him, "What? Do you expect a bunch of Gnomish alarms to go off and an enchanted cage to drop down from the ceiling?"

But then, Kael'thas cringed and couldn't help checking up at the vaulted ceiling. Beautiful, innocent-looking wordcarvings of grapes, coiled vines and gently curling leaves just touched by soft moonlight.

He steadied his voice again, "See? No traps. No tricks." Kael'thas turned and passed his gold claws over the glass case, "Just something wonderful, waiting to be ravished. The Humans' pride is what's going to make this so easy. They can't imagine anyone on the inside defeating their defenses—"

"Or anyone on the inside of their own Alliance being so cruel as to betray them, you know, when it comes to a cure for the Plague."

"Having second thoughts?" Kael'thas held onto the walnut podium beneath the glass, looking up and down for a latch or other opening. His yellow reptilian snout sniffed along the sides.

"I'm with you, alright…" Faltheriel poked his silver crocodilian head through the door to check down the hallway one last time, then slithered over to where Kael'thas was trying to open the thing, "But could we just walk through this one last time? This whole…"

"Caper?"

"Again. Stop." Faltheriel sighed, "So we steal the vials, we take them home…"

"We take them back to my room."

"Your room, fine. I don't want the evidence sitting around at my place anyway. But then we…?"

"Experiment on them. Make them stronger."

"Stronger. Okay. Of course. Wait… we make the memory loss… more potent? Is that what you're saying? Uh, that sounds dangerous?"

"Making zombies forget that they're zombies and serving the Lich King is the whole point of a memory deterioration spell, Faltheriel."

"I know that—but how do we even test it?"

"We simply test our altered spells on a likely subject, the sort of creature that would be a target."

"Well, the Humans are the targets for now."

"Right."

"We won't get a Human to sign up for our weird trials that aren't even supposed to be happening with vials that have obviously been stolen from Violet Hold, Kael'thas."

"Look, will you stop worrying? Just come over and help me with this thing!" Kael'thas moved around to the side and placed his hands on a metal latch. It was embedded in dark silver filigree, and so it was hard to see that it wasn't just a decoration at first. Faltheriel moved to the other side, and tried to mimic what Kael'thas was doing, clicking the metal leaves and what turned out to be jeweled buttons.

"Faltheriel, I've already thought of everything, anyway. We'll use my succubus like the last time, it'll be fine."

"What last time? I wasn't there the last time? What spell did you use on your succubus as an experiment?"

"…Oh."

"Oh? Kael'thas? What 'Oh?' What are you talking about now?"

"Nevermind. We don't have time for cocoa and a chat right now. I think if you press down on your end and I hold down mine… it's a two-person lock. Funny, it would be easier with Human or Elf fingers."

Faltheriel tried, but he kept getting distracted with whatever Kael'thas had suggested, about his 'other experiment.'

Then, Kael'thas' rich voice intruded on Faltheriel's worried thoughts again, "Damn! The thing is, Faltheriel, I really think this isn't even Human. They didn't use a lot of security in the room, because it's all in this box. Some other… magical context is being used. Perhaps… silithid or demonic."

"Silithid! As in, those bug monsters in Silithus?"

"Anything to protect the most important spell in the hold. I should have guessed. We both should have guessed-damn!"

"Well it's still not working and we both heard voices when we first came up here, so let's just go. We're in enough trouble for beating up those guards." Faltheriel turned to leave, "Heh, though it did kind of feel good."

"No, Faltheriel."

"Are you crazy? We can't get further than this. I don't _actually_ want to get caught or expelled, Kael'thas."

Kael'thas grasped the side of the wooden podium again, with his gold claws, "I said no! Come on, come on…" he kept fiddling with it, but his hastiness made no difference, "What the fel-I need this!"

Then they both stood there, feeling like idiots. Faltheriel raised a hand and pointed, beginning to understand.

"Kael'thas, you never answered me before. What was the other experiment?" Though Faltheriel asked it as if he already knew.

Kael'thas grit his pointed Naga teeth and gave Faltheriel a threatening look, like he'd be shouting at him to shut up if he could yell and not alert the whole place.

Faltheriel got angry back, he seethed, "Look. After this is all done, once we get back to your room in one piece, sun-willing… I want you to tell me everything that's been going on. Because I'm starting think… it's starting to become very, painfully obvious to me that this has nothing to do with fixing the Plague. Does it, Kael'thas? You're so intense about it—this isn't about scholarship, is it! Oh my gods, how could you still be so obsessed?!"

Kael'thas hunched his scaley shoulders with annoyance, rather than answer.

"Kael'thas! Is this about Jaina somehow? Again?! What else would involve a female test subject—who's romantically inclined?!"

Kael'thas made a low growling noise that seemed to surprise even him, then he shook his head and turned back to the glass case. "I don't… have time to explain, but yes, you were right. The ring was pathetic, I admitted that back in your room. This is different, though."

"How?! How is this different than coercing Jaina Proudmoore to marry you?"

"Keep your voice down. Look, it's like this, okay?" then, Kael'thas really hesitated, "Faltheriel, when people get finally over romantic relationships, that's when their hearts are open to love again, right? It's a natural process."

"We are so about to get stabbed by many Violet Hold guards, Kael'thas. And all while you stand here being as pathetic and nerdy as you've ever been in your entire life, and bound to be for years to come if we even survive this! Because of Jaina Proudmoore?"

"Natural process! Yes or no? Hey, I thought you'd play along, since you love life and want to live and all that…"

"Yes, Kael'thas! Yes, getting over a breakup, with time, is a natural process."

"Okay. We're getting somewhere." Kael'thas kept feeling along the runes by the glass case. He continued to explain while he worked and conjured small spells, "Jaina was freshly dumped by Arthas after graduation—"

"Well, he wasn't there. I'm not sure if he dumped her. She's still properly his fiancée."

"Arthas dumped Jaina and she's free and clear!"

Faltheriel flinched, "Okay, okay! She's single if you say so."

"Good." Kael'thas let out a breath, "Anyway, the only thing left for her to do now is mourn the loss of the… idiotic partnership they had and then get the fel over him. Right?"

Faltheriel made a face.

"Right?!"

Defeated, "Whatever. Sure."

"So. I have her forget that part."

"Wait a minute…"

"I erase Arthas from her memory so that the last four years with him never happened, and then Jaina and I can finally have a proper chance. It's organic, it's natural."

"Flaw."

"No flaw. I've mapped this out several different ways. I was up hours before I went over to your room. I have a flow chart. It's holographic and in five different colors."

"Still flaw."

"Fine, what stupid flaw did you imagine in my perfect plan?"

"If Jaina forgets about Arthas, and then if Arthas comes back to claim Jaina because it was, as I said, a couple's tiff… she might just fall in love with him all over again. You know, because they're destined?"

Kael'thas straightened. "What the—?"

"Or, Dean Sweeney."

"Why him?"

"…Or anyone else that she might come across who's cute, blonde and brooding. Even me."

"Even—oh, so you're just pulling my leg. Har har."

"But we don't have legs right now, Kael'thas."

"Shut up!" Kael'thas threw his hands up in the air. Well, claws.

"No, you shut up, my prince! Well, I don't care whose prince you are—are you even being serious right now? You're so obsessed with some Human woman you can't have, you're going to throw your academic career away? And this will surely damage our relationship with the Humans whether you succeed or fail—where did this dumb idea come from all of a sudden, anyway? You were so invested in that ring. The ring meant something to you. Kael'thas, before, you were content to wait for that ring of your mother's to work."

"I thought of the memory spell thing myself and it isn't dumb. Well, it was inspired. Here, stand on that side again. It's in demonic, I think I figured it out… by being a competent conjurer unlike you in this situation. Now, put your hand, or whatever it is, on that set of runes. Follow my lead. This time, get it exactly."

Faltheriel began to mimic Kael'thas. It wasn't hard to figure what Kael'thas was doing, igniting the runes in ascending sequelae. It was the prerequisite skillset for arcane ascendancy and the master's degree on that subject. Or, at least the concept was the same. Something both Highborne had taken at university. Faltheriel muttered something that it was the first class they'd taken together, where he and Kael'thas had first met. Kael'thas was annoyed that he'd been insulted, so he didn't say anything.

They worked quietly for a while.

"…Okay, so the Naga woman gave me the idea. Her name is Lady Vashj. Do you think that's even a problem, though? Like what's the worst that could happen, it's just an idea that she shared with me. Illidan Stormrage is the one who told her to come find me."

"Illidan… why does that name sound so familiar? Eh, it sounds pretty cool, though. Wait, is he some kind of singer?" Faltheriel played at air guitar during a pause in their conjuring, " 'Eh, I'm Ill Dan, lead singer of Level 30 Elite Tauren Chieftan. Time to rage the storm… yeoooow! Dananana naaa naaa!"

Don't laugh. They couldn't tell the future.

Kael'thas took his claws off the podium as well. "Last round. You ready?"

Faltheriel nodded. Then, "Wait, mine's locked out. How did it happen-Gods, Kael'thas! I can't get back in. Now it's all on your side…"

"Crap…" Kael'thas tapped his fingers faster across the colorful panel. "This is so stupidly hard without fingers. Oh, come on!"

Faltheriel came over to Kael'thas' side, watched the magical lights race ahead of his friend's fingers. Kael'thas, even with his talent and the gift of the Sunstrider line, going back to Dath'remar himself, simply couldn't keep up.

Then, Kael'thas indulged an evil grin. Vashj's power throbbed at his fingertips. Pure Naga magic like this was so ancient and so potent that it seemed to have its own sentience. It knew what it was about. It was even so sophisticated that it could school those who had never before used it, and it was beginning to guide Kael'thas' thoughts, his body now. It was exhilarating. Somehow, Kael'thas knew to raise his arm. Then, he felt a rush against the bottom of his sleeve, as if Queen Azshara herself was holding just there, whispering warm against his cheek, directing him. No, it wasn't Vashj at all. All that Vashj had, clearly, she got from her queen. The voice speaking to him now was almost… silver. It did not hiss at him, it was nearly… a silk.

Kael'thas steadied his breathing while his scholarly mind raced with fascination and worry at that prospect. Perhaps tonight, in a small, even convoluted way, Queen Azshara, the very source of the Naga's vile pact with the Burning Legion, had woven her own tendril into him.

And, perhaps, if Kael'thas was a better man, that wouldn't have turned him on.

"So is this what it feels like, to be a real Naga?" A chill went through Kael'thas. Yet, he did not want to stop.

Kael'thas watched as bright aqua light budded between his fingers, then raced down his whole arm to make it glow.

"What are we about to do?" He whispered to himself next. But then again, he already knew. Just as he'd asked it, the power had answered.

Kael'thas knelt down, smoothed a hand over the vile metal. Then, reptilian eyes slipped shut. Wisps of shadows slipped away from his Naga face. The magic began to pull apart, just a mask, revealing his Elven features beneath. As the colors on the panel raced back and forth and several alarm lights began to threaten above their heads, Kael'thas reverently bowed and kissed the foul-looking runed stone.

"Kael'thas! What the hell did you just do—is that even sanitary?!"

Kael'thas turned around, his face covered by the magical Naga mask again. The glass box opened behind him. Then, he gestured absently for Faltheriel to go get the vials.

"It wasn't about getting the right sequence at all. We just needed to apply the right amount of pressure." His voice was low, his gaze far away, "Thank you, Azshara."

Faltheriel whipped around to look at Kael'thas with real dread. His nervous hands were trying to grip four spell vials. Kael'thas swore and dove when Faltheriel dropped one.

It was a dumb thing to do. Whether it shattered or came open in his hand, Kael'thas would face a terrible fate. Both men had closed their eyes, terrified of the result. Kael'thas looked at the icy-looking liquid racing up and down inside the clear vial, still stoppered, and balancing at the edge of his palm. He carefully cupped it with both hands. Faltheriel leaned down to help steady Kael'thas while he uncoiled himself and stood upright on his Naga tail again.

"Kael'thas, this is madness."

"I don't regret it."

"We will, though."

"Here, take this stand. Put them in your bag and make sure they stay upright. Can you do that?"

"I'll be tempted not to so I can forget this night with you ever happened, Kael'thas."

"You get sloppy and you'll forget that you're even a Highborne. You'll end up wandering the countryside and married to some Amani Troll or something."

"Blech."

"Though, I hear Zul'jin is pretty fetching…"

"He's a Troll, he only has one arm that he probably ripped off himself, and uh, that's a pretty outstandingly disgusting joke for the Prince of Quel'thalas to make."

Kael'thas silently went to the door and checked down the hallway. Kael'thas gestured and then he and Faltheriel made their way to the stairs.

Faltheriel whispered, "I wonder what happened to those voices?"

"Never look a gift Hawkstrider in the mouth."

"What?"

"I'm almost sure Sunthraze said that to me once, when we were kids-"

"Aw…"

"I don't know where else I would have got it from." Kael'thas smiled over his shoulder, "Would you believe I've been saying that for years?"

The reason you don't look a gift horse in the mouth is because you'll see how old the teeth are and get why the horse was free in the first place. Old Human saying. But the reason why Highborne say never to look a gift Hawkstrider in the mouth is because Hawkstriders don't have teeth. Keep pushing your luck with them, and they'll snap a few fingers off.

But Kael'thas wasn't a proper rancher like Sunthraze. He couldn't have known all that.

When they entered the stairs, it seemed there were angry Hawkstriders everywhere. At first, the color assaulted them. Violet, red, gold. Violet Hold guardians, mages in crimson robes and an archmage with a yellow spell conjured and at the ready. All of these Humans were focused on the two Naga men carrying a satchel of the most dangerous spell created thus far by the Kirin Tor.

Kael'thas and Faltheriel shared a look. Of course, it had been a silent alarm. What were the guards going to do, bust in there and scare the wits out of the intruders while they had handfuls of the stuff? No. They would wait for the Naga to leave, wait for them at a choke point. There was nowhere to run on the stairs. The magical doors swept shut and locked behind Kael'thas and Faltheriel.

Faltheriel, speaking in Naga, "This is not… anything close to good, Kael'thas."

"Don't call me by my name, just in case. You never know who understands."

The archmage with them shouted an order. The main stairwell was an exotic, enchanted affair, with stairs running in a few directions. Impressive, intimidating and beautiful, just like anything at the university or in Dalaran. It was like the physical plane had been shifted for kicks, like sliding a fancy omlette right from the frying pan onto a plate, for show. Kael'thas noticed that the way the mages were arranged on the two flights of stairs going up on either side, the two going down, and the last staircase running north-south, they were all standing, coincidentally, along the ancient Elven rune for 'chaos'.

Kael'thas became offended in an instant, "We showed them how to use magic to begin with. Bunch of show offs…"

"What?" Faltheriel was too frightened to notice anything like it.

And then there were those rows upon rows of narrow, throbbing purple stained glass windows, like a giant spider's many eyes, glinting at you from the darkness. Blue arcane candelabra cast oddly straight slashes of light across everything.

Faltheriel snatched Kael'thas' elbow, "Someone's coming."

"It would have to be someone with an ego the size of the Titans, to set us up like this." Kael'thas was far less intimidated now. More annoyed. And when he saw the man who'd planned it all, he was practically disgusted.

Dean Sweeney stepped gingerly down the flight of stairs to the northwest. Every stair case joined on the landing where Faltheriel and Kael'thas had been stopped short. Sweeney had long, blonde hair done in a single braid down his back, and a flanged black hood that he liked to wear pushed down, so that it settled over his shoulders, the tooth-like edges framing his neck and jaw.

Like he'd hatched out of a spoiled, bad egg.

He was a good-looking man, and for his dislike for Elves, he had a strange way of mimicking their hair, enjoying their magic, and everyone knew Sweeney always had a woman Elf or two assigned to shadow him in his personal laboratory.

Prince Kael'thas was the one Highborne Sweeney hadn't managed to completely humble while under his purview in Dalaran. Intimidating King Anasterian Sunstrider showing up on Kael'thas' first day at university, demanding that his son be given the dean's apartments instead of a simple dorm room had ensured that. So, Anasterian had protected his son. Whether Anasterian had heard the rumors about Sweeney and done it on purpose, to flatten him at the outset, or whether Anasterian had simply enjoyed embarrassing his son in the process of getting him a better room was an ongoing argument between Kael'thas and his father.

Now, Kael'thas was forced to see the wisdom in his father's rough way of handling strangers, pulling out of the Plague crisis with the Humans, all of it.

Being stuck in a Naga illusion, holding something that you felt you needed desperately, and while surrounded by the angry Humans who didn't want you to have it in the first place, was worse than terrifying.

To balance and step down the last few stairs, Sweeney clamped a hand with many rings over the shoulder of the mage nearest him. The younger mage grimaced in pain, and his knees buckled. His friends had to help hold him up. Sweeney's didn't care. His gray eyes locked on the tall, gold Naga at the center of everything.

Sweeney lifted his chin, as well as an eyebrow, "How now… Naga. Quaint, ain't it? How foreign ta everything that's been happening here in the Eastern Kingdoms, and so mind boggling of a distraction. It is," he lifted a finger, and looked around as if they were all in his lecture hall, "therefore, and obviously… a disguise." Sweeney snatched his hand closed, "Remove that! Somebody decurse those two."

Kael'thas spread his claws, crouched, but there was nothing else they could do.

Two, and then four and five mages threw their hands up, attempting to pull away the Naga forms Faltheriel and Kael'thas were wearing. But Azshara's magic held.

"Well, we have years and years to undo all of it, don't we? And just like there are rouges out there who love playing with locks and daggers and things, torturing prisoners until they get the secrets they need—there are mages who are just as astute and gruesomely inclined. They'll love a chance to pick apart a Naga or whatever you are, bit by bit, just to see inside. How about that?"

It wasn't a question they could answer.

Faltheriel looked over at Kael'thas. In Naga he said, "You know… up until now, all we did was take it out of the room. We haven't used it and you're… very important. Sweeney wouldn't be able to lock you up, not really. If we give up now, we could say it was a prank. And there's no harm done, so—"

"No!"

"I'm not getting tortured by Sweeney's dogs over this!"

Over their hissed and growled conversation, Sweeney clasped hands together, "Have the two of you boys made up and decided yet? Ready ta give up the goods? I may be a simple, country mage from little ole' Elwynn Forest, but I'll try and explain to you big city university kids how serious this matter here is and how it's got to go down now." Sweeney arched his fingers and tapped them against his mouth moment, studying them.

He paced, "You boys must understand, and I do say boys because real Naga, agents of an old god, the Burning Legion or the vile Lord Illidan Stormrage of Outland himself—"

"Wait? _That_ Illidan? That's the guy who wants to meet you?"

Kael'thas looked at Faltheriel with great annoyance, hissed and shushed him.

"…Would those kinds of Naga wouldn't come in here sloppy like this? No. They would have had an army, tried to take the place. I even doubt they'd come for the vials, when there are a lot of more interesting, more valuable characters here in this very hold for them to rescue. And I hear the Naga have worse spells than even those memory deterioration vials. They've got the kind of stuff that'll curl your spine. In fact, I know because I studied it. I, in fact, masterminded it and based our Kirin Tor memory spell off of those very same Naga spells that have kept those monsters safe for millennia! You wouldn't come out of your big ole' ocean ta steal a watered down version of something ya'll already got, in spades, already in your wet home. Am I right?"

Kael'thas set his teeth. "Dammit…"

"And ya'll should also know how precious the spell vials are to us citizens of Dalaran now, like our own children. Please, for your own sakes, play nice and hand them over gently. You know what happens if big ole' papa bear sees his cubs in danger, dontchya?"

Kael'thas went out of his way to say this in Common, "Male bears sssire their children, they don't care for them. Sssomething callous Sssweeney himself _would_ get confused."

Sweeney's smile sharpened after that, "And now, I know for certain that I'm dealing with a bitter student. Or… graduate, perhaps? So my list of suspects to expel or turn over to the city guard just got that much shorter." Sweeney then waited, to see if there'd be any more smart comments, "Now. Hand those over. If you decide to throw them, we'll also manage to throw you in about ten different directions down these pretty stairs, I'm sure."

Faltheriel made a whining noise through his gills, "We have to tell them. Now."

"Did you even hear him? We're screwed no matter what we do. Fal—Well, this isn't about not getting in trouble any more, or coming clean. We're past that. The only thing that matters now is our survival."

"But we deserve to be punished. What we're doing is wrong, the vials don't even belong to us—"

"It's us or them. There is no right or wrong right now, only survival. And I won't let some Human who's always had it out for me get his chance to rip me, my father or my kingdom limb from limb because I decided to do something… well, stupid. Maybe I'll pay for what I've done later, but I won't do it on his terms. Get ready."

Faltheriel was already shaking his reptilian head, No. But the air began to tense, in a way not even the Human mages could describe. In fact, the soaring enchanted stairs, the needle-like points of blue light, they began to bend…

Sweeney surely had his suspicions, that only a few Dalaran University students could make it to the top of his short mental list of infiltrators, and a certain Highborne prince Bloodmage would be at the top. But even Kael'thas having the power to transform himself into a Naga and do what Sweeney himself had only studied in books, was beginning to force Sweeney to accept was about to happen, that was so very hard to imagine. The air began to spark, in a particular way. For any Human to dare dream, or perceive in his nightmares… Naga magic, combined with Elven.

Sweeney went red, he shouted, "Get down!"

"Do you know… how much I hate you, Sweeney? Arthas! Jaina! How much I hate all of you for what you sat there and watched me and laughed at me for enduring?! For once, I will survive. I will overcome it. I WILL HAVE MY WAY!"

"Kael'thas! No!"

Kael'thas unleashed a searing red spell that sliced, like a sharp hot wire through butter. Except that it went through the stairs, the walls, and the necks of any Human standing on those stairs who hadn't obeyed and got down fast enough.

It had been simple. It was powerful enough to destroy everything as savagely as a Naga would, but without obliterating, and so elven efficiency was also imbued with it. A thin, blood-red line of hellfire. Anyone might have missed it. The most powerful mages would underestimate it, perhaps just stand there and swat it away, like an annoynce. But that was the point. And it had been borne of the imagination of vengeful Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider. He could have only been fantasizing about doing that, many, many times over the years. Perhaps sitting at the back of class. Eyeing the entire room, wondering how he might do the most damage without anyone seeing it coming. No, don't go big, go small. Go infinitesimal. And one day, make people afraid of delicate, expanding red circles in their sleep… With the power of Queen Azshara herself coursing through Kael'thas, he finally had the spell-power to execute one of his favorite scrawlings in his old lecture notebook perfectly.

Sweeney was on the floor, arms covering his head. He began to get up, slowly. His eyes fixed on the golden Naga, mere steps away from him, who'd done it.

Sweeney's eyes, wide. His mouth, once horrified, now edging almost into a smile, "I wonder… did you just singlehandedly rip the Highborne out of the Alliance?"

Kael'thas froze. Fennore grabbed him and ran.


	16. Chasing a Stray

**Chapter 16: Chasing a Stray**

The characters and settings created by Blizzard Entertainment Inc in this story are owned by their creators. I do not claim them as mine in any way, shape or form. I am not receiving monetary profit from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **K** ael'thas sat in his underwear with a drink in his hand. Elbows on his knees. The sweet-smelling amber liquid gone sideways in the glass just beneath his fingers. His fist cramped around the glass and pressed into his temple, as he stared.

The Naga magic had dissipated hours ago. Now he was simply a man again. He presumed Faltheriel was the same. Kael'thas, with good mage sense, had torn them through so many levels of the keep, using his most powerful an arcane blink spell. Kael'thas wasn't completely sure he could do it, but didn't have time to warn Faltheriel about that at the time. It was mad and it was reckless. They disappeared and reappeared on the roof after several violently bright moments. Then, it was only obvious to any spell caster how to get back down to the street. Kael'thas grabbed Faltheriel as he'd grabbed him moments before and saved him from Sweeney. Kael'thas made Faltheriel come with him as he stepped off the edge. That took trust. Too much damned blind trust in his prince. Faltheriel being so vulnerable to him in that way made Kael'thas feel even more guilty. The slow fall spell brought the two of them to the bottom, coming down as easily and as innocently as two floating feathers. It felt far too innocent for the two of them. After, of course you split up.

Now, Kael'thas was at home. So-called home. Kael'thas' apartments were filled with curious, wondrous trinkets, parts of experiments, yes, the large colorful flow chart of his plan to win over Jaina, and also heirlooms brought all the way from Silvermoon, to help him feel at rest and at peace in this strange Human city.

All that, and it was all still so empty.

Kael'thas felt sleepy. Worse, he vaguely sensed he was about to drop his alcohol. He sniffed, blinked several times. He stood up and began to pace around in his shorts.

"Dear Sunthraze… it's funny how, one day, you're just… sitting in the back of class, hating your life, drawing crap in a notebook. Nothing serious, just a joke. It could be graffiti, one day, if you have enough courage to… slash it all over a Founder's Hall, with a paint brush. And then, after graduation, everything is different. Nothing is the same after you graduate," Kael'thas squeezed his eyes shut, tapped his glass of liquor against his brow again, "It all goes to shit, doesn't it? You wonder, 'What am I doing? What the fel am I doing, anymore? Is this all? Is this really it? I'm on my own and I have to make it all by myself? No, I have to submit. Submit!" Kael'thas toasted no one, "Submit and cower before some other master. All that training and learning only to give your soul over to some… kingdom. The freedom is the lie. That you can make your own life. Nothing can save you if you were born a jackass. That people hate. Because you exist, it's just because of that, really. You insist on being an Elf around them. And ontop of that, you're taking up the space that they want." Kael'thas wandered past the mirror. He wouldn't look in it. He turned his back to it, "And if you are a mage, a real Bloodmage, the way I've done it… you can actually carve that shit right into the air, right on people. That hateful scrawling you once did in class. I think it was arcane… astral physics class, something…" Kael'thas almost twirled, in a drunken attempt to turn around without really seeing himself in that mirror, pace in a new direction, "I tried. I failed, then I tried." Kael'thas stopped, pointed a finger out from his drink. He was trying to follow what he'd just said. Of course, he couldn't. "Well, Sunthraze. I'm finished." Kael'thas waltzed by the ashtray and picked up his cigarette again. He inhaled, deeply, then set his drink down hard on the glass table. A part of Kael'thas did want to break that glass. Everything was too peaceful. Everything was being too nice to him.

There was a knock on the door. Ruthsalia, Kael'thas' golden succubus, could have been a statue as she stood there silently, minding his odd rant. He gestured sloppily for her to open the door.

Knowing better than her master at the moment when she had her orders, the demoness asked, "Who waits on my glorious master?" She'd said it with conviction, too. Ruthie likely believed it was her one chance to do something for her unhappy warlock. Kael'thas was capable of little else that evening.

Whoever was waiting checked at the voice. "Um… that's not Jaina is it? If so, then I can just come back…"

Kael'thas was too far gone to notice much about his succubus answering his door. It should have been forbidden to him. First of all, that he had a succubus out when he was alone at all, and second, that having a demon woman around while he was in his underwear had nothing to do with his studies.

Faltheriel could be heard cursing himself through the door, "Right, it wouldn't be her. Ruthsalia, is it? It's me."

Ruthsalia frowned, unsure how to handle that. She wasn't really the violent kind of succubus, and she really was trying for Kael'thas, "Me, who is?"

"Faltheriel. Faltheriel Darkweaver. He should have given you instructions to yield, only to me." Then, after a few moments, "Woah, that sounded… so excellent."

"Master, it is the weird one. Please do be careful." Then the succubus let Faltheriel inside. She locked the door behind him, then stepped on dainty hooves to block the only way in and out of the apartments of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider.

Faltheriel looked up and down Kael'thas, who was wandering around in only his shorts. But Faltheriel wasn't smiling.

"I don't think I've resurrected so many people in my life. It felt like we were at war. I was terrified for a while… but, no. The Naga illusion had concealed my identity well. I think it was worth the risk." Faltheriel worked through some pain in his head, or his hands. But he winced as if it was deeper than that, "Don't you think it was worth it, Kael'thas? For me to sneak back?"

"…Want a drink?"

"Are you high?"

"Not yet. Or, I've been coming down. Last hour or so. Anyway, I'm out of arcane crystals if you were interested in my private stash."

Faltheriel wanted to walk over, but he paused after the first step.

"I'm in my underwear because I'm miserable. I don't feel like getting dressed or caring or anything. Can you handle that, Faltheriel?" Kael'thas turned his back on him, "You insufferable butthead."

"I covered for you! I just spent the last three hours of my life covering for you, my prince." Faltheriel sounded as if he would weep.

"I did not ask for you to do that."

"I had to! Someone had better, too much is at stake!" Faltheriel went over again, to where the bottle of whatever Kael'thas had been drinking was set up. Stormstout beer, Goblin gin, red wine all the way from Darnassus, Silvermoon Special Reserve… Actually, it was a poor time to recognize that Kael'thas had an impressive mini bar in his college dorm room. Faltheriel passed his hand over a few deep green or heavenly white or blue bottles before choosing one. He unstoppered it, with a pleasant 'pop' that did not fit their present situation at all. Then, Faltheriel poured.

Faltheriel obviously needed courage for the next part, "Did you do as I said? Did you stay here, and do nothing?"

"Technically, a person can't do nothing. You're breathing, your hair is growing. That's physically impossible—" but when Kael'thas eyed Faltheriel scowling at him over near the drinks, he stopped being funny, "Mind pouring me another?"

"Are you a lush?" Faltheriel slammed his drink down, much as Kael'thas had done a few moments ago, but he chose to be obedient as well. Kael'thas watched as Faltheriel filled his glass.

"Yes. I locked myself in. I put Ruthsalia on guard, and you see how well she did. I only drank, I only stared at the floor and drank myself away. I didn't even read, or touch the vials," Kael'thas made a loose gesture at Faltheriel's satchel that Kael'thas had taken with him, since the memory deterioration spell samples were coming to his room anyway. "Well, I had the arcane crystals, like I said. And I talked to myself." He furrowed his brow, "But all that time, I stayed right here. I even walked calmly up the stairs to get here."

"No yelling at your succubus that…" Faltheriel hissed in whisper, "You coldly murdered our own allies?"

Kael'thas tried to put a hand in his pocket and act casual, but as he was only wearing underwear, he didn't exactly have pockets at the moment. Kael'thas waited for his drink instead. Faltheriel was tempted not to hand it over.

Ruthsalia rolled her hip, placed a hand on it.

"Take five, doll." Kael'thas enjoyed telling her, pointing, with a smirk. Though his delighted look couldn't last.

Ruthsalia walked confidently into the next room, as if there was another important mission for Kael'thas in there as well.

Likely, so. She'd strolled into his bedroom. Faltheriel shook his head, "So then, all the worst rumors about Kael'thas Olvia'thon Sunstrider are true… Then again, why should I be surprised?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm Greatfather Winter and you just now realized I wasn't real, just a fat guy in a red suit. I'm not supposed to be your hero, Faltheriel."

"We could argue ethics forever. It's a waste of our time."

" 'Our!'" Kael'thas' mocked him, "When did we come a 'we'?!"

"I'm obsessed with you, get over it. Be glad I watched you commit murders and am still talking to you."

"You, of all people, would take this chance to take advantage of my state of mind and cement a real friendship between us." Kael'thas leaned elbows a tall dresser, narrowed eyes at Faltheriel.

That hurt.

Faltheriel had another large drink, "I think you should tell your father."

"What."

"Or your step-mother. Or, Sorn. Someone you can trust. We shouldn't try to handle all of this alone. The Sunspire is much better at managing a cover up."

Kael'thas rushed fingers back through his mess of blonde hair, "You're an idiot. Just when I thought you could handle hanging out with me after all."

"You were insulting me a moment ago. Thankfully, I know you have every right to be in a strange place right now, and I'm sure it will pass. Give it a few weeks. You'll be grateful to me. It will be like it was before, between us."

Kael'thas suddenly sank to the floor, crouched and covered his face. Perhaps it was too clear now how wretched he was. Kael'thas was stuck with a madman as his only friend in the world, and Kael'thas couldn't really talk to Faltheriel in that case, could he? He couldn't really confide in his stalker and get real advice on how to cope, what had happened to him to make him flip and do something so horrendous to other members of the Alliance. And on those stairs, it was like he craved it, he needed it…

Azshara's presence whispered nearby him again. It felt like she breathed against Kael'thas' cheek. Instinctively, Kael'thas wanted to turn into it, kiss the warm feminine presence so close by him, that he felt he needed.

But nothing was there.

"Kael'thas?" Faltheriel was pouring himself a second drink, "Maybe I should stop after this so that you can start taking me seriously."

"…What did you just say? About Silvermoon?"

"Well," Faltheriel hesitated. That Kael'thas had not heard him the first time must have given him false courage, "You must go to Silvermoon. You have to go back home. There are too many enemies here, and you will be found out."

"Not… without… Jaina."

"It's not up to you anymore, or her. For the last time, Kael'thas—"

Kael'thas shouted, "NOT WITHOUT JAINA!"

Then he tore across the room. He pushed Faltheriel back into the row of drinks on the silver cart, "Everything, absolutely everything I've done up until this point, after stepping first foot on this campus has been for her. She needs me, she is perfect for me! And do you know how dangerous it would be, for me to leave her here, for these wolves to take advantage of?"

"What if Arthas comes back?" Faltheriel wasn't exactly pushing Kael'thas off as wholeheartedly as he should have been.

"Exactly! What if Arthas returns? I want to be here for that." Kael'thas noticed a bottle sliding to the edge of the silver surface of the cart. He reached out and grabbed it. It also served to brace Faltheriel up, when he'd been meekly trying to slide out that way.

"S-sorry…"

"You bet you are. Never, ever speak about her like that again. The only way Jaina is leaving Dalaran is with me, as my bride!"

"Kael'thas. You need coffee. And I warn you that you're starting to sound like a cute little blonde royal parakeet…"

Then, so startingly rational, so painfully, it came out, "No. I need my father."

Faltheriel watched Kael'thas break down and cry in front of him.

"Your father… is in Silvermoon."

Kael'thas managed to get to the couch. He leaned over the side and sobbed, no longer able to control it.

Faltheriel had to finish his drink, seeing Kael'thas like that.

"I miss my mother, too." Kael'thas managed after a while. He swept a great deal of hair away from his flushed face,"She was so beautiful. So good."

"You remember her?"

"I could never forget. No matter how… silly, or strange or… well, bad I was. She understood me. She was able to forgive me, no matter what I broke. She never hated me."

Faltheriel drifted near the couch. But then, he thought better of sitting nearby or touching Kael'thas. He didn't look like he would welcome it.

"I do want things to calm down. Start a family, look ready to take the throne, settle things once and for all with Arthas… I want to reassure everyone that I can do this."

"You mean, reassure yourself."

"Well, yes. It's the last thing, the last loose end I must tie up. So don't tell me that I can go on without her, because I can't!"

"Alright. But it is starting to seem like you have all the problems ever, Kael'thas. There's a lot of talking going on here. Couldn't we start thinking of some solutions?" And possibly, Kael'thas was rambling on because he was still pretty high on arcane crystals.

Kael'thas sprawled out on the couch in a quite pathetic way that confirmed Faltheriel's suspicions. His mood was all over the place! "I can't stand life sometimes because I know that I need a… certain kind of person." He looked away, dramatically, "Is that dark?"

Faltheriel sat on the floor, at Kael'thas' feet. "A woman that feels like your family, like home. Like she would fit in your home. I think most men who are the marrying kind want that." He shrugged, "But that's not so strange, I guess. Anyway, maybe if we sort of… broke your problems down into smaller, um… piles?"

"Good. I miss my mother in a terrible way, sometimes. I think that makes me… intense, with Jaina."

"So, I guess that goes in the mother-issues pile. Hrm… So then, we have your drinking and doing a lot of arcane crystals. And then the succubus thing. Also, your giant ego, your violent temper… are we up to pile four or five?"

"…But I just don't want to lose Jaina, too. I can stand on the right side of it, you know. People don't I'm capable, but I can. I can totally choose not to be obsessive. If things would just _calm down_ for me."

"Are you thinking… there is no other woman…" Faltheriel hesitated, really hesitated this time, "I'm sure that I just heard you say that you don't believe that you could be with any other woman than Jaina Proudmoore."

"Yes. I love her. Jaina. Jainaaaa..."

"And could no one else love you?" Faltheriel got angry, fast, when Kael'thas sneered at him, "I'm not talking about me! We handled that last night. I'm just saying… don't write off all the other _women_ in the world, Kael'thas. It can't be that lonely for you."

"She would have to be a mage, though. A very talented mage who could enchant like… whole ships and make them fly through the air with sparkly purple arcane powers to attack an enemy castle."

"Fine. She'd have to be an intellectual."

"And Jaina is gorgeous. She's got these—"

"Alright, everyone knows you have a thing for beautiful blondes. No real harm in that. I wish you'd consider other hair types, but this is still a work in progress."

"I want a woman who is understanding and kind, who would know my moods."

"Well, you should… go on and date someone who's just a big a jerk as you are. That'd work."

"I didn't call Jaina a jerk, Faltheriel."

"Nor did I. I didn't think that she was. I'm talking about your plan B who will eventually beat out Jaina and become your plan A, if you let her. And then you'll be like 'Why was I even making plans, when this woman I love is so amazing…' "

"Well. Only Jaina can—"

"You've proven your point. But I also think I've proven mine, if you consider it for a while. At least try it, eliminate the doubt. Walk into your future marriage with a clean… uh, perspective."

"I don't blame you for not wanting to say the word 'conscience' around me."

Faltheriel attempted to keep it light, "When you're ready, you will see what I mean. It's an easy thing to see, anyways." Faltheriel had a last sip of his drink. He then got up and took Kael'thas' glass away from him. He had to wedge it out from Kael'thas' fingers.

"I also think you should try dating one Elf, in your life, before you settle on Jaina!" Faltheriel then tried to control the tone of his voice, "I mean, just while Jaina is making up her mind. What do you think of that? You can try it once you're back in Silvermoon City, and after you've seen your father, explained things to him."

Kael'thas looked over, "Nice try, Faltheriel."

"What is it going to take to get you there? An ice storm with shards of… ice and snow nipping at your heels, specifically? Perhaps a squadron of hungry yetis?"

"Why ice?"

Faltheriel then went to the sink and rolled up his dark sleeps. He began to wash their glasses, as if it was any other afternoon. Then came the gentle click of glasses being moved around together, among soap suds. Kael'thas' eyes slipped shut and he frowned.

"We were just drinking, my prince. Guess I thought of ice."

Faltheriel glanced back over. Kael'thas had gone back to brooding. But at least he was more calm.

"You know what, Faltheriel?"

Hopeful, "Yes, Kael'thas?"

"Jaina has the prettiest, ice-blue eyes. I just realized that's the perfect way to describe them…"

Faltheriel growled to himself and silently prayed something or someone brave would drag the gloomy, intractable Kael'thas Sunstrider OUT of Dalaran!

 **O** ne hot summer morning, Sunthraze was up on his Hawkstrider hunting down stray birds from his flock. While a swath of the blue and violet Hawkstriders lingered along the gold valley beyond him, he set out alone. Tall grass just beginning to go to seed swept by the toes of his boots as his red-black Hawkstrider followed the tug on its reigns or the slight pressure Sunthraze applied to its sides by squeezing his thighs. A breeze snatched bright, candy-colored hair loose from beneath Sunthraze's wide-brimmed hat. He gripped the heavy rope lasso looped round the pommel of his saddle, let fly another charismatic whistle or two.

Sunthraze's dog tramped along just behind them. A big hound that knew it wasn't worth running as fast as the Hawkstrider could go, but was also well versed in the perfect accents of his master's whistling. This one meant that the man with bright red hair, up on the Hawkstrider, had somehow spotted the stray first.

The dog picked up his gait a little, tail low. Sunthraze whistled again, more angrily this time, and his dog Gravy suddenly cut into a fiery race down into the next field.

"Damn dog. Sorrel, when your dog is about as resentful helping out with the flock as your so-called friends, you know that things are bad." Sunthraze shook his head, then had to grasp his hat when the wind picked up again, "I even pay the dog. Technically." Dinner scraps counted, right?

Money. Money for food, clothing, the house, and for everything. Money for a date. A date with Tempest. Tempest…

Her body, her red and white dress, her holding his guitar. That day alone with Tempest in the barn kept distracting Sunthraze. It had been weeks since. He'd gone down to the barracks once or twice to see Britecleff, and he managed to see her too, even if it was to whistle at her like he whistled at his dog so she could come running from whatever she was doing in the practice yard and leave that Pyorin behind for a moment or two. Then, Sunthraze made the mistake of explaining to Tempest how he'd learned to whistle like that. She tried to slap him, he stopped her, stole a kiss, had to run off. He was pretty sure both of them were laughing by the end of it. Still, though… it really wasn't good enough. Not for a girl like her.

"Well, if this flock sells well, I'll have some kind of money by the end of the summer."

Would Tempest wait that long for him? What if Pyorin stopped being so stupid and got his act together? Tempest could easily dangle the fact that there was another man around in front of her boyfriend's face. Then, Pyorin might straighten himself up. And flatten Sunthraze out.

But was Tempest even the sort of girl to play those kinds of games?

"…She's so, so sexy." Sunthraze got stuck on that again. Then, he indulged a dark laugh at himself, "Well, that settles it, then. None of my worries about her being a man trap could possibly be anywhere near relevant!"

Sunthraze remembered he had a dog and a stray Hawkstrider to look out for. He moved his hips and urged his own mount onward, faster. He hefted up the loop of rope in one hand, let it slip through his fingers as he and his mount gained momentum.

He whistled for his dog again. Sunthraze could suddenly hear both animals heading his way.

It was work, it wasn't a carnival act. But when Sunthraze saw that big fussy green-blue male, the adolescent that was always kicking off on his own, now charging angrily right at him, plumage flared, something impulsive seized the young rancher. Anger and excitement roiled up. Some kind of lunatic ferocity seared through Sunthraze.

"Come on you big BASTARD! Hiyaah!" Sunthraze pulled on his mount, the two birds were now going head to head. But his Hawkstrider was trained to cut, and that's just what they did together at the last moment. The dog helped, putting pressure on the same side where old Sorrel leaned in and snapped his beak.

Baby Blue, and it seemed Baby Blue knew Sunthraze was always making fun of him for calling him that, rustled his feathers as he veered off. But Baby Blue was getting puffed up because he'd got a shot of courage as well. The blue-green bird pecked at Sunthraze's stirrup as he went by. That sharp beak nearly stabbed into Sunthraze's foot. It forced Sunthraze to squeeze his red bird on that side with his leg, and that nearly put the whole effort off.

"Blue! You wanna get FRIED for dinner? Cause I'm just in the mood!" Now, Sunthraze rode up right behind the other bird. His dog was there too, staying up tight against its long legs, too close for the dark blue taloned feet to lash back and catch him. Both of them like hell on wheels on the creature that was making them work so hard in the summer sun, ruining their mornings.

Sunthraze whipped his arm around three times, fast, then let the lasso fly. It slipped around Baby Blue's head and neck so fast, the bird didn't know it, and he seemed genuinely surprised to find himself being dragged along by the man and red Hawkstrider he'd so insulted only moments ago.

"That's right. Come with me now or get dragged, strangled and stuffed for dinner. Come on!" Sunthraze pulled the bird. His dog had slowed down again, a silvery gray lump sifting between the tall sheaths of grass, somewhere in the background.

Sunthraze imagined that if his dog Gravy could talk, that hound would be about as jaded and smartmouthed as he was. The moment they were all within shouting distance of the main flock, Gravy started lagging behind even further. Sunthraze cussed at his dog and gave another hard whistle for him to keep up. The dog did barely enough to keep Baby Blue hemmed in, and then peeled off for shade and quiet as soon as he had the chance.

Sunthraze was scowling, sweating and breathing hard when Sorrel brought him back alongside the other birds.

It's not like he and his mother had a whole lot of money, but Sunthraze was very good at fast-talking strangers, Hawkstriders, more recently Farstrider rangers, and most certainly his own friends. He checked over to see if his buddies were still on their own Hawkstriders, keeping the flock tight in line. They were supposed to be moving them to the next foraging plain, where there were more shade trees and water.

His friends were all clumped together on their Hawkstriders, though. They weren't supposed to be doing that, lingering. As he got closer, Sunthraze saw what the problem was. Another rider was there with them.

"Hey! This is private land, you can't—"

It was Ranger Pyorin. And Pyorin looked more pissed off than Sunthraze had ever seen him before.

Sunthraze cussed himself, this time. Well, this would be the day, then. The day that Pyorin fought him over Tempest. Sat on him again, harder. Killed him. Worse. Pyorin sure looked ready for it. So, she did tell on him. Well, Tempest was probably tired of sneaking around, Sunthraze couldn't blame her… Wait, how whipped was he already not to blame her?

"Well?" Sunthraze knew he was dead before he even got it out, "I'm ready if you are. Meathead."

Pyorin walked his green standard-issue Hawkstrider over to Sunthraze. He was alert, not pissed off. And, he was worried.

"What's this? More orders from Britecleff? Doesn't that guy know how to use the mail?" Then, Sunthraze got distracted with his own joke, "Think Britecleff will ever mind if I make that joke to his face?"

They were a good many paces off from Sunthraze's friends still.

"Hey Sunthraze! Do you need us?" Rennin, one of Sunthraze's friends called. Rennin had long dark hair tha he kept in a messy braid over one shoulder.

Pyorin cooly intoned, "…And do they actually think that they're threatening me?"

Sunthraze waved his friends off, that he was fine.

"We're going to have some water then, rest with Gravy over there…"

Sunthraze glanced up, saw that they weren't going too far, just to a pair of trees. Sunthraze also noted that he wasn't the only one who sometimes thought about his dog Gravy like he was an actual person. A gray, sneaky low-to-the-ground sort of person with with better ideas about hard work than most bipedal people.

"Pyorin, you opened it."

"You told me to." Pyorin's voice got very low, "That's our deal."

Sunthraze turned the envelope over in his hands again. The elegant script was painfully familiar. He went from anxious to delighted, then to horribly nervous all over again.

The letter was from Prince Kael'thas. In his own hand. The one they had been waiting for all this time.

Sunthraze could hear himself swallowing, "What… what's it say? You've read it?"

"Have you read the newspaper this morning, yet?"

"Well, look. We're broke, we don't exactly get it delivered. I usually pick it up for Ma around supper time…"

"Well, there's a headline in there. About a raid on Violet Hold. Do you know what that is?"

Sunthraze seemed annoyed to have been asked, but then again, he couldn't answer Pyorin either.

"It's the keep in Dalaran where all the worst monsters and the most dangerous magic in the Eastern Kingdoms are all kept secure. Behind bars, locked up. Smaller things might go in iron-clad trunks with spell-locks. The larger prisoners are in chains…"

"Look. I know what a keep is, Pyorin."

"Not long ago, about the time it takes for news to get from there to here, I'm assuming, there was a break-in. Two people in Naga costumes."

"Probably some students playing a practical joke, then."

"I don't think so, Sunthraze. They went after a special spell, something dangerous that is meant to fight the Plague. It was the Human's one hope, the one lead they had to turn back the war with the Scourge. The dean of the university says he is working with authorities already. They're narrowing down a list…" Pyorin fumbled, "I-it's the way they were killed, you see—"

Sunthraze's expression darkened, "Who was killed?"

"Several humans. All magisters, all working for the Violet Hold. There was a rescue effort. A Highborne priest was able to help them resurrect the victims, thankfully all of them, so thankfully, there's that." Pyorin paused, uncomfortable. He wasn't thinking of lives, he was thinking about the reputation of Quel'thalas, thinking like a ranger. Sunthraze rolled his eyes. "But still, the trespass is huge, Sunthraze. They say it was an attack that came from the inside."

Sunthraze took the letter out of its envelope and unfolded it. Kael'thas' handwriting was elegant as usual but also some how… hurried. Very slanted.

"Is Kael'thas okay?"

Pyorin began to answer, but then the words didn't make it out. Pyorin reached across their Hawkstriders and grabbed Sunthraze's wrist.

"…Sunthraze. He did it."

"Who?"

Pyorin frowned.

"Who are we talking about, here?" But Sunthraze was almost accusing Pyorin of something. Of some betrayal.

"Look… is there someplace where we can talk?"

"Nothing but wide open spaces out in these parts." Sunthraze angrily got down from his Hawkstrider and then shoved the big nosey bird away. Sunthraze marched off with the letter and Pyorin jogged after him. The two men walked for a while, not talking. Sunthraze hiked along in the tall grass, over the uneven ground, covered in rocks and lumps of bird-trodden earth. Their claws scraping it up and scattering it here and there for years and years. For generations of his family using it to let its birds graze and forage.

Sunthraze read the letter again and again. The wind came, the grass whipped around. Sunthraze felt like he still couldn't catch his breath. Not even the ground would steady him. But Pyorin's footfalls, in those damned Farstider boots, they were solid and they were ever-present. Pyorin, used to marching all over the place, like in fancy parades, all through the barracks double-time, jogging after Tempest every morning, probably… well, however Sunthraze disliked Pyorin or Pyorin's place in the world—and it often felt like they should change places—Pyorin was now keeping up with Sunthraze better than his own dog Gravy would.

Finally, Sunthraze shuddered a tired breath. They had come to the edge of the creek anyway. He sat among the smooth rocks there. Pyorin squatted nearby.

"Afraid to get your pants dirty, Mister Fancy?"

"If I get mud on myself, then they'll know I took a detour. Went to see someone else before bringing this straight to them."

"They? And who's them? These amazingly special people you need to impress."

"Queen Celestia."

"…Oh." Sunthraze winced that he shouldn't have forgotten. Well, he hadn't forgetten about offering to help Pyorin, and really, help himself by doing the spywork together. Since Pyorin was so bad at it. Advisor Sorn would eventually have both their hides, otherwise.

"It might be a while." Sunthraze looked elsewhere while he unbuttoned his shirt. "How come it always sounds like I'm coming on to you, whenever we team up—have to work on something together?"

Pyorin didn't rise to the jibe.

"…My friends aren't watching, are they?"

Pyorin shook his head,"No. I can't see them."

"Here, sit on my shirt at least so that your knees don't go. I bet you're older than I am, aren't you?"

"Tch, not by much."

"Sit, Pyorin."

Gravy was suddenly there behind Sunthraze, whining. Sunthraze had a white undershirt on beneath his plaid one. He swore at the hound dog licking his back.

"Sit!"

Pyorin and Gravy both sat quickly.

"Sorry, I meant the dog. Why are you over here, anyway?" Sunthraze tried to shove the dog back, the way he'd made his Hawkstrider go away earlier. But Gravy was insistent. Gravy stared and panted at Pyorin, next.

"Oh. Well, I eat lunch by the creek, sometimes."

"Smart dog, then."

"Pyorin…" Sunthraze flipped through both pages of the letter, dismayed. The plan was for Sunthraze to copy out the letters from Kael'thas, then hand the original back for Pyorin to re-seal it. Pyorin would then deliver the copy to Queen Celestia, as had been their arrangement for months.

"Pyorin, I can't. There is no way that I can do it this time."

Pyorin leaned back on his elbows. He said nothing for a while. Perhaps he felt Sunthraze would come to the inevitable conclusion on his own. That it would be better for him. Unusually clever for Pyorin, until Sunthraze realized it was starting to feel high-handed as well, which was much closer to Pyorin's usual M.O.

Sunthraze sighed, had to say it out loud for himself,"…But Kael'thas confessed to the whole thing. Why?"

Still nothing, except for the creek bubbling along.

"Why, Pyorin!"

"Sunthraze, our prince killed people."

Gravy whined that he wasn't getting any food. Then a bird sailed overhead.

Sunthraze grimaced, "And to believe I was just thinking… how hard my life is. How much I hate being out here. How much I even hate that dog," Sunthraze listened to the creek for a while longer, "I bet Kael'thas would love to change places with me right now."

Pyorin chose to say on topic, "Prince Kael'thas is a murderer."

Sunthraze picked up a page of the letter once more. It crackled in his fingers.

"Sunthraze. Can we really keep helping him, then?"

Sunthraze was stalling, "Recovery effort, you said. In the newspaper? What else did it say? About the victims? No, I mean… the one who helped them."

"You can't seem to make up your mind about how exactly to waste my time right now."

"Was there anything else significant? That's what I mean!"

"Well, it rambled on about some star student, Faltheriel Darkweaver, who came running in and helped them find everyone who was injured or… well, dead. He did most of the resurrections, he was able to find the bodies faster than anyone, he was pretty upset by it. You know the Silvermoon papers would make sure to get that one Highborne angle in. I hope the Human papers did too, but you never know with those."

"So the people Kael'thas killed… _allegedly_ killed… It was an accident anyway. Well, not _anyway_ , but… they're all alive now."

"He did try to kill them, Sunthraze. Are you ready to come with me, yet? We have to report it. You and me, we're in this together. My end doesn't make sense without your part in it."

Sunthraze looked at the brown creek water. Ugly, in a way, as it rushed passed, foamed around rocks and sweeping silt downstream with it. But it also looked warm. He knew that it was warm and sweet. Sunthraze had relaxed and even had handfuls of the water to drink, for as long as he could remember. It just wasn't that way. Bad water. Not this water. Whatever it looked like. Sometimes that water even lulled him to sleep. It was trying to do that now, even through all of this.

Sunthraze looked over at Pyorin. Pyorin had crossed his ankles. He was very relaxed in Sunthraze's presence now, with the help of that old creek.

Sunthraze read the letter out loud, "…I thought I was going to die. I couldn't let that happen. I don't know what I did, Sunthraze. I don't remember. It felt like I… I knew that I just exploded. After, he grabbed me and we ran. Ididn't realize what we were running from until much later. I took several blink spells through the floors of the Hold. Then, I used a mage spell so we could slow-fall from the roof… it was like we were in the middle of a war. They wanted to kill us. What else could I do?"

Pyorin asked, "Right, that's the confession I was talking about. Right there."

"Pyorin, I think my point is, it sounds like Kael'thas was temporarily… well, he sounded out of his mind. That isn't him. This letter," Sunthraze waved it in the air, "It isn't him."

"You don't know him!" and when Sunthraze tried to remind Pyorin of the family connection, Pyorin became red-faced, "I'm saying that neither of us do. Kael'thas isn't a real person to us that we actually understand, he can't be! Now, we need to get out of this. We need to both… stop doing this. I say we just… give all of this back to the royals! Let Celestia just have the damn letter and let the Sunstriders deal with their own damn problems!"

"Pyorin! Will you think? For once? We can't do that. If Celestia wants Kael'thas gone—and I don't mean on an all-expenses paid cruise round to Northrend and back—this is all she needs! It's a confession to a crime, a skewed, hurried… panicked confession, when Kael'thas was alone and scared, freaking out in his room. And then, it's just… stuff he wrote. It's not evidence, it's not someone actually piecing together what happened! What about the witness, the one with him? What if he was tricked into it, or drugged, or—or somehow forced! Pyorin, what if Kael'thas was blackmailed?!"

"What? Where the Sun are you getting all this stuff from? These are excuses! What Kael'thas did is right there, in black and white. We need to turn this over to someone in authority who knows what to do. If you're scared of Celestia, fine, I guess I'll admit she scares me too, in a way. But then we have to at least go to Britecleff."

Sunthraze had a feeling then, in his gut, that something more was going on. That something was horribly wrong.

Pyorin insisted, "Sunthraze, you're taking this undu'diel thing too far! What are you, reading Kael'thas' mind now? All the way from Quel'thalas?"

Sunthraze thought quickly, "You could have shown this to Britecleff or even to Ranger-General Sylvanas to begin with. Why didn't you?"

"Because we have an arrangement, you and I. Remember? I can't actually make a move without you backing me up, though now I'm starting to regret it."

"No, Pyorin. You came to me first, because you sensed it too, that something was up. Admit it." Pyorin was shaking his head at him, "Come on now, meathead! You're afraid to go to them, but you aren't afraid to come to me. Deep down, you don't want Celestia involved and you don't want the Farstriders involved either, right? So what does that tell you? Geez! Don't tell me you don't even trust, let alone know your own instincts."

Pyorin set his jaw tight.

"Stop being so hard all the time. You don't want to see Kael'thas hanged for something he didn't actually do. Right?"

"Maybe. But it doesn't matter what… questions I have about it. It's still there on the paper!"

"It's just a paper, it's just ink! And how do you know if he even wrote this? What if one of his enemies is setting him up?"

"Yes, I'm a little freaked out too, but we have our duty. This is evidence and so we have to do what the paper says—I mean, what it tells us to, right there!"

Sunthraze raised his eyebrow, making his point about the set-up. Next, deadpan, "So, we're taking orders from a piece of paper, now."

Pyorin dragged a hand down his face. "How the fel did you do that? Dear gods, now I can actually see it."

"Right. Why are you in such a hurry to have our prince hung, drawn and quartered for treason against the Alliance? Kael'thas needs our help, not our judgement—that should be left for a court to decide. Right?" Sunthraze then spat out, impatient, "Since you're a noble law-abiding Farstrider and justice is your _bitch_ and all that—"

"Okay, okay! I said I finally got it, didn't I?"

"Good. So, then." Sunthraze itched at the back of his neck, probably around where the dog licked it, "If… if Kael'thas is guilty… I'm not saying we should mindlessly follow him, but Kael'thas is an unusual guy. And he's under a lot of pressure. Let's protect him and get the truth first before we decide to do anything."

"How do we do that though?"

"Don't the Farstriders investigate crimes?"

"Not the ones in Dalaran."

"Well…" Sunthraze was stuck, "What we can do, you and I, is hide this letter so we can buy Kael'thas some time. Celestia's certainly not got it on her calendar that her step-son is due to write her a confession about a random attack in Dalaran Hold, and is tapping her foot, waiting for it to show up at the castle."

"True…"

"So, let's… Let things calm down. I'm sure King Anasterian wouldn't appreciate something like this coming to light about his son, and I sure as fel don't want to be the one to hand it off to him. And what explanation could _we_ even have, for meddling so far? Celestia wouldn't have any explanation for it, either."

"I did already say I'm glad to do it your way. Sunthraze, if you're going to lead a clandestine effort, you need to stay calm."

"Stop recruiting me to be a Farstrider!"

Pyorin sat up, glared at Sunthraze.

"…Sorry."

"Thank you. Now, then. What do you propose we do, until Dalaran investigates and we know more?"

Sunthraze folded the letter back up. He put it back into the envelope, though his hand was trembling, "I joked about her not having a letter from Kael'thas on her calendar, but think about it-if Celestia's spies know that a letter has come because they don't like to leave absolutely everything up to her Farstrider stooge, but they don't' have their hands on it yet, then we do have to give them something, Pyorin."

"Who's Celestia's stooge? Not me."

Sunthraze rolled his eyes.

"Look. Let's make up something about Jaina Proudmoore, or his studies or something and give Celestia that. And then I'll copy it out like normal."

"Are you a master forger who can copy Kael'thas' handwriting?"

"Trust me. I'll make it happen. It might involve a discreet, blood-related third party you need to bribe…" Pyorin rolled his eyes at Sunthraze telling him this, and then Sunthraze made it even worse, "But don't worry. I'll take a cut."

"Whatever. And what do we do with this letter? Someday, it could be evidence."

Sunthraze snatched the letter away from his dog, who was sniffing at it. Gravy had started to lick the envelope.

"What would it be evidence of, though?" Sunthraze gave Pyorin a look. A long one. Then, he reached back and scratched his dog behind the ear.

And, almost casually, he let Gravy have the letter.

"Sunthraze… that letter… we shouldn't…" but Pyorin's protests were very weak by then.

They both watched as the dog wagged his silver tail and began to chew on the paper. Encouraged by the fact that the two people nearby weren't stopping him, Gravy began to paw at it and tear it apart.

"…Even if we have to prove Kael'thas wasn't in his right mind?"

"An unusally intelligent thought for you."

Pyorin grit his teeth, "Tempest slapped you. That's what I heard. That's another little thing I know."

Gravy began to noisily wolf down the paper. He growled and showed teeth, while ripping into the last of it.

It became very tense between the two men.

Sunthraze said this carefully, steering them back to the matter at hand, "Hate me if you like, Pyorin. But if Kael'thas goes down, you will go down."

"How the fel do you figure that?"

"Because I will bring you down. Kael'thas is my friend."

"You are becoming obsessed with him."

"I'm obsessed with justice being done in my country."

"Kael'thas is not the same as Quel'thalas."

"He is our future. He is our prince. He will be our king."

"You're an idiot to throw your lot in, our lot, with a man you don't even know. How many times do I have to say it?!"

"I am going to save him. I will do whatever it takes until we are sure of his guilt, or his innocence."

"Sunthraze, I don't think—"

"Isn't that the Farstrider oath? Doesn't it amount to something like that? Defending the law or some crap? So why are you fighting me on this! Pyorin, if you think I'm going to let you ruin our prince's life because you're jealous of me and you want to keep shagging a woman you hardly deserve-"

"I am going to punch you in your fat mouth if you keep going."

"We don't have to like each other, but we do have to work together. Pyorin?"

"…Fine."

"And was that the only copy of the letter?"

Sunthraze got up. He whistled for his dog, but Gravy was enjoying ripping up the last of the envelope.

Pyorin affirmed that it was the only copy. Then, he stood as well. Pyorin opened hands at his sides, and then his voice broke, "What if we're wrong? What if Kael'thas is guilty, and we're in too deep? What if we've risked everything for a murderer and he has failed us, Sunthraze?"

Sunthraze decided to be affectionate toward his dog, then. He petted Gravy roughly, then let Gravy leap up and lick his face. Sunthraze then motioned for his dog to sit up again, then stand up on his hind legs for another good, long scratch.

"…Sunthraze?"

"And what if it's even darker than that, Pyorin? What if Kael'thas killed them, for a reason? Or what if someone drove him to it, for a reason?"

Pyorin just stood there. The creek bubbled away.

Sunthraze finished it, "That's the point. We have to find out. Everything. We can't assume."

Pyorin came closer. When Sunthraze looked into Pyorin's face, it was clear how troubled his rival was.

"Why did your dog like the taste of that letter? Does he always eat paper?"

"He likes fish. I know it's weird… but this greedy big boy loves a catfish or two if I can catch him one. I try not to give him any bones, though."

Pyorin's brow knit, "Are you saying… Do you think someone could have framed Kael'thas, for murder? But it's a murder that Kael'thas confessed to, in a letter." He raised hands defensively when Sunthraze glared and it seemed they'd start the same argument over again, "It really does look like it's in Kael'thas' own handwriting. And if so, Kael'thas is convinced that he's done it, that it was all his idea. Who could convince him of all that?"

Sunthraze waited for his dog to get back down, then snapped for Gravy to come along. Sunthraze began to walk them back to the Hawkstriders and his friends who were bored and waiting by now.

"Yes, it'd be very long game. And, really, there's no reason for us to suspect it. I just have a hard time believing Kael'thas could flip out like that, whatever kind of pressure he was under."

"…Maybe. Do you know who I think might snap one day? That Arthas. Or, Sylvanas. Illidan. Maybe Jaina. Archdruid Fandral Staghelm. King Varian. Deathwing, for sure."

"Sylvanas is fine."

"She's intense!"

"And why did you just name like… everyone?"

Pyorin shrugged, "It's the universe we live in."

Sunthraze sighed, shook his head. "Do you know what the real problem here is? We need to get his ass out of Dalaran. While Kael'thas is over there, too many strangers are around him, probably maneuvering him. I bet he doesn't have space to breathe, let alone write a letter by himself, uncoerced."

"True. If Kael'thas was here, we'd have Sylvanas, on her good days of course, and then Britecleff and Anasterian to help… I dunno, at least keep up some kind of defense." Pyorin worried further, as their boots crunched through the dry grass, "And who would even want to set up Kael'thas? He doesn't have any enemies, unless you count Arthas, who wouldn't stoop so low without a good enough reason, and Jaina Proudmoore. And any poor woman Kael'thas has ever laid eyes on."

"You really should stop talking about our prince like that."

"Well, it's true, Sunthraze. I hate to say it."

"That's the thing, you love to say it."

They came back to scratched up Hawkstrider dirt. Their footfalls were now far less dramatic.

Pyorin asked, "Sunthraze, did you lasso a Hawkstrider earlier? I think I saw you, when you were coming over to us."

"Sure I did."

"…I can't lasso a freaking Hawkstrider. Is it hard?"

"Yes, definitely. If you don't know what you're doing, you could get blinded, killed."

"I don't believe you. I bet I could ride up to a Hawkstrider right now and grab one if I had a lasso. Here, lend me yours."

"Alright, you can try, but I think you're a bit too husky for it. Your bird would get slowed down—they don't come in as many shapes and strengths as horses, you know. You really do have to be slender like me."

Pyorin's competitive smile faded, "Okay… Well, why not show me how?"

"And another thing, your Hawkstrider definitely isn't a cutting-bird. It's not even trained. You could never do it or even learn to do it properly. And definitely not at your age. Hawkstriders are tricky things and I've been doing this for years. For you, it'd be too dangerous."

"Really?"

"But eh," Sunthraze yawned and pretended to flex, "As for me, I was born to it. It's just a part of my job."

Pyorin, poor dear, had been trying to be friendly, to renew peaceful conversation between them, "… … I hate you."


End file.
